


No Ordinary Love

by badskippy



Series: No Ordinary Life [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Misogyny, Modern AU, NOT THORIN'S, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Racist Language, Some LONG Chapters, Suicide Attempt, graphic depictions of self harm, misognistic biogtry, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 197,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Ori have been best friends since they were ten years old and tragedy brought them together.   Now, a new job, a sudden rainstorm, a chance meeting and budding romance with a burly, handsome stranger will not only alter their lives, but set in motion events that will change everyone around them, and reveal how lies, deceit and assumptions can leave deeper scars than the ones that can be seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reference Page

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [非常规恋爱 No Ordinary Love (Chinese version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806046) by [AlisaMiz12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlisaMiz12/pseuds/AlisaMiz12), [flowinglight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowinglight/pseuds/flowinglight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here are the inspirations for many of the looks in NO ORDINARY LOVE.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_**HERE ARE SOME REFERENCES THAT INSPIRED THE PEOPLE AND STYLES IN THIS FIC.** _

 

_**I DON'T THINK I NEED TO TELL YOU, WHO INSPIRED THORIN AND DWALIN - BUT HERE YOU GO!** _

 

 

 

_**ROBIN WRIGHT IS THE INSPIRATION FOR DIS** _

 

 

_**BILBO'S LOOK - LIKE A MODERN EDWARDIAN GENTLEMAN** _

 

 

_**ORI'S LOOK - BURBURRY INSPIRED OUTFITS.** _

 

 

_**BILBO and ORI'S HAIR STYLES - I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO TELL YOU WHO IS WHO.** _

 

 

 

_**** _

_**DURIN and SONS INVESTMENTS** _

_**(Yes I know, it's short one level, but it's just the inspiration)** _

 

 

_**A VERY GOOD FRIEND ASKED, WHO DO YOU SEE AS THE CHARACTERS?** _

_**WELL, HERE IS THE FULL LIST OF WHO I ENVISION PLAYING THE PARTS ...** _

_**(Bare in mind that those playing villains, are NOT casted because I dislike them)** _

 

Martin Freeman as Bilbo Baggins

Richard Armitage as Thorin Durin

Graham McTavish as Dwalin Fundinson

Adam Brown as Ori Ryson

Sir Ian McKellan as Dr Gandalf 'Andy' Grey

Robin Wright as Dis

Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson as Vili (but with blond hair and a trim beard)

Sean Connery as Fundin Farinson

Helen Mirren as Carolyn Goddard

Anthony Hopkins as Thrain

Lesley Duncan as Fris

James McAvoy as Frerin

John Rhys-Davies as Groin

  Bob Hoskins as Gloin

Lewis Helsinteger (Lew from Unbox Therapy) as Glimi

Ian Holmes as Bungo Baggins

Julie Walters as Belladonna Baggins

 

  
The other "company" members played by their respected actor

Jed Brophy as Nori Ryson

James Nesbit as Bofur

Mark Hardlow as Dori Ryson


	2. MONDAY - Saved On a Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life was a funny thing ... someone could live their life and not realize they were missing a thing until they ran right into it. Literally.
> 
> Then again ... some knew exactly what they were missing ... and couldn't do a thing about it.

* * *

 

            Ori Ryson wasn’t one of those people that believed in luck or fate or in any of that superstition nonsense. He had no fear of walking under ladders or breaking mirrors. Hell, he even opened umbrellas inside all the time— _how in the world could you buy one if you didn’t open it first?_

            However, thinking of umbrellas and superstitions—as he was running through the deluge—he did wonder jokingly about rain. Supposedly it was bad luck for it to rain on a wedding day, but good luck to rain on a funeral. So, he wondered, what would it mean if it rained on a day you both lost a job but gained a better one?

            Frankly, he was getting soaked, so he didn’t really care.

            It was coming down in buckets and, as fate would have it—if he believed in that sort of thing—he had forgotten his umbrella; it was still at his old job. Actually, a great many of his things were still at his old job, but he had left in a huff and proceeded to call his roommate in a panic.

            Bilbo had only laughed; Ori had bitched and complained about his job almost since he moved to London from Edinburgh two years ago and Bilbo wondered why it had taken Ori so long to just leave it. _Steady money_ was Ori’s quick response—graphic artists were a dime a dozen in London it seemed. But Bilbo said that Ori was lucky, as he knew for a fact that a position had only just opened at the magazine he worked for and to take his portfolio and his skinny arse down there right away.

            Ori’s luck held out—again, not that he believed in that—as the director of the department had loved Ori’s portfolio and hired him on the spot. A quick introduction to the rest of the staff, a breakdown of the schedule and what to expect, a quick trip to security to get his badge and Ori had walked out of the place with a dream job. It had all been just so _perfect_!

            Until he took two steps out of the building and the heavens opened up.

            Thinking about those superstitions, Ori decided that rain must be good on the day you got a new job because it felt like a baptism to him; he was starting life anew. At least, he continued to tell himself that like a mantra.

            As his large portfolio case bounced painfully against his hip, Ori tried to use his messenger bag over his head to keep dry but all that did was get the bag wet. As he rushed along the street, he saw a small alcove to duck into and he seized the opportunity.

            Naturally, that was when his _luck_ ran out.

            The alcove was actually the entrance to a business and as he stepped into the recess, he slipped, lost his footing, and tumbled against the glass doors so that they swung inward. Everything went flying, his bag, his case, and of course, himself. _Great,_ Ori thought, _nothing like making a total wanker of oneself for all to see._ He was soaking wet, disheveled, and now sprawled on the floor like a mad drunk.

            He was so lost in his own thoughts and embarrassment; he didn’t hear the shouts of concern or feel the presence of the people who rushed over to his aid until suddenly there was a large, paw-like hand thrust into his line of sight.

            Ori looked up and forgot how to breathe.

            The man was unbelievably attractive. Bald, broad shouldered, muscular—as could clearly be seen even through his pale blue dress shirt—and had a full beard of salt and pepper hair. But it was the dark, deep forest-green eyes that pinned him to the spot. It took Ori several long seconds to realize that the man’s gorgeous mouth was moving and had been talking to _him_.

            “I’m s-sorry?” Ori stammered, shaking his head to clear it.

            “I asked,” the man said in a deep, rich baritone voice, graced with a slight Scottish burr, “if you were all right.”

            Ori nodded and added dryly. “Except for my dignity, nothing seems to be hurt.” He took the offered hand as the man laughed and was instantly hauled up from the floor as if he weighed nothing.

            “Why not have a seat for a minute?” Ori was lead by the handsome stranger—who still held Ori’s hand—to a cluster of chairs that was obviously a waiting area of some kind. A striking, fashionably-dressed woman handed him his messenger bag and portfolio case as he sat down, and he smiled his thanks. That smile faded as both his benefactors hustled off in different directions without so much as a word or a wave.

            Ori sat there uncertainly for a minute or so, staring in a bereft manner, off in the direction of the man who’d helped him up . . . and did so until the striking woman came back with a towel. Ori thanked her profusely, but distractedly, and had just finished drying his hair and had started on his arms when the man who’d helped him returned. Ori’s heart started to beat a little faster, his spirits lifting as his knight drew closer.

            “Here,” he said, placing a large red mug of something steaming on the table in front of Ori. It looked to be very strong tea. “Something to warm you up.” He gave Ori a crooked, utterly charming smile, and Ori was once again lost for a few moments.

            “Thank you . . . very much,” Ori said, picking up the mug and warming his hands. The man’s crooked, charming smile widened and he gave Ori a once-over so quick, Ori almost missed it.

            Almost.

            _Okay, so he’s a Knight in Shining Ego,_ Ori thought amusingly, _I can handle that._

            “No problem.” The man turned back the way he’d come, but said, glancing back over one strong shoulder: “Stay as long as you need,” before giving Ori a small wink and walking away.

            Ori sat there for God only knows how long, staring soppily and grinning after his savior before putting down his now tepid tea—sloshing some on the spotless table—and quickly diving for his bag. He dug around inside, looking for his phone. _I really need to clean this thing out!”_ Upon finding the phone, he pulled up Bilbo’s number and tapped out a text: **Just met my future ex-husband!!!** He giggled to himself as he added a smiley face with hearts for eyes, and hit ‘send.’ Then he reached for the cup the man had given him and took a sip; it was mint tea! His favorite! Talk about luck! Ori grinned to himself and figured he would find the guy after the tea was done—with the excuse of returning the mug—give his thanks and get his name.

            It wasn’t but a few minutes and half a cup of tea later before his phone chimed with Bilbo’s response: **You don’t get a new job and a new boyfriend in the same day. That’s against the rules! LOL. I want to hear all about it when you get home.**

Ori let out a happy sigh and finally took a minute to really look around. Judging from the look and dress of the employees, this business catered to a rich clientele. He wasn’t into fashion but could easily see Chanel, Dior, Gucci, and, while he couldn’t swear, he was pretty sure the woman that helped him earlier had on Tom Ford. He became very self-conscious of his jeans, oversized jumper, and canvas messenger bag. He quickly pulled out his steel wallet and used it as a mirror to fix his hair—which he now saw was a wet bird’s nest—before he finally gave up with another sigh.

            “Are you waiting for someone?” A stern, hard voice sound off to his right and Ori turned to find a very intimidating man standing there.

            The man wasn’t as big as the other guy but still was tall, broad, and muscular. His jet-black hair was parted on the side and slicked back in a severe style; there was silver-grey at his temples. He had the most piercing blue eyes, not as dark as sapphires but more like dark ice; cold-looking. He was handsome or would be if he smiled, especially with his dark beard and hawk-like nose. Even the thin, pale v-shaped scar that ran from the man’s forehead, skipped over his left eye and then continued down his cheek did not take away from his looks, nor did the cane that man leaned on. It was the scowl and thin lip line that spoke to Ori; it told of a man not to be crossed on the best of days.

            “I ... erm ... I, just ...” Ori stammered out, totally unable to speak while under the intense and disapproving scrutiny of the man.

            “He, literally, fell through our doors,” the woman from earlier said, “while trying to avoid the rain.”

            The man heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. “What the hell are we, the local homeless shelter now?” he spat out. “Are we taking in strays?” He turned and stalked off and Ori noticed the slight limp to his step.

            _So the cane was functional and not some sort of fashion statement,_ he thought. Then sighed yet again. Clearly, he had overstayed his welcome. Ori started to quickly gather up his bag and portfolio case and then made to stand.

            “I apologize for my brother,” the woman said kindly. “You don’t have to run off.”

            “No, I should get going anyway,” Ori stated as he went to the door. “The rain has almost stopped and I need to get home. Thank you again.” Ori offered her a brief smile and quickly made for the glasses doors until her voice stopped him.

            “Wait!” The woman came over as Ori turned in the doorway. “Take this. And be careful.” She smiled and handed Ori something which he took quizzically, but stuffed in his pocket, and nodded to her, wishing her a good day.

            Then he was out the door and down the street, heading for the tube station without looking back. It was only after the train had left the station, and Ori had settled into his seat between a nodding, elderly gentleman and a teenage girl with more tattoos and piercings than available skin, that he remembered the item the woman had handed him and fished it out of his pocket to look at it.

            He laughed to himself because clearly, he had not fooled anyone; she had handed him the guy’s business card which not only had his work phone number but a small photo of the beautiful man himself.

            _Dwalin Fundinson_ was his name _. Dwalin._

            Ori _. . . liked_ it. It was strong, masculine, and _perfect_.

            _Maybe I_ am _lucky after all_ , he thought as the snoring older fellow to his right began to drool on his shoulder.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dwalin hated emails. He hated getting them, hated reading them, and definitely hated having to answer them. Of course, he could just have his secretary handle it but it was late in the day and frankly, he wanted it over and done with. If there was one thing he hated most about emails, it was coming in the next day with any left over from the previous day.

            He did have to admit though—not that he would—that the emails were a good way to distract him from thinking about the kid in the lobby. _Not kid. He wasn’t_ that _young._ Either way, they guy was hot as hell. And Dwalin tried not to let _that_ thought run away with him; he was at work for Christ’s sake. He didn’t need to be wanking in the loo. Not that the thought of wanking was bad. . . .

            There was nothing stopping him from checking on the guy. See if he’s okay, if he needed anything, like another cup of tea. Or maybe if he wanted to have Dwalin dry him off. In private. Naked.

            And just like that, Dwalin was back to thinking about wanking again. _Damnit._

 _Enough of the damn emails._ Dwalin leaned back in his chair, put both hands behind his head and closed his eyes. It made no sense, for God’s sake, for him to get all worked up over some guy who literally fell through the door! Sure there was a bit of that spark and some flirty looks . . . but that was it. The kid probably had a boyfriend or lived with his mother—or something; something that didn’t in the least bit lend itself to even the possibility of a date, or dinner, or going for coffee, or even just a hot roll in the sack with empty promises to call sometime.

            No, there was no reason to get up and head out to the lobby and just ask the guy to go grab a bite and spend some time together so Dwalin could have an hour or two—or three, to just undress the kid slowly with his mind and fuel the next month’s worth of wank fantasies.

_F_ _uck it._

            Dwalin got up and was reaching for his suit jacket when a voice came from his office door.

            “Going somewhere?” Dis asked playfully, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She had an open, sweet expression which told Dwalin she either was up to no good or the shit was going to hit the fan.

            “Not in particular,” Dwalin answered, straightening out his jacket. “Why do you ask?”

            “Oh ..." A smirk was playing on Dis’ face, "just wondering if you were heading out to the lobby for anything.” This did not bode well; Dwalin sighed.

            _Fine, let the games begin._ He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “Why would I need to go there?”

            “I don’t know . . . maybe to see if there’s a client, or _someone_ , in the waiting area.” Dis stated with a small shrug of her own.

            “Or someone,” Dwalin repeated dryly. Dis wasn’t fooling him, but then again, he wasn’t really going to try and fool her—no point—Dis had a laser-like insight into the men in the office and in her family—most unfortunate to be both her coworker and her cousin. It was the one thing that was both amazing and annoying about her.   Dwalin just huffed out a chuckle. “He's a little cutie isn’t he?”

            “Yes,” Dis said with a nod and a smirk. “He _was.”_

Dwalin’s good mood crashed and burned. “ _Was?”_

 _“_ He’s gone,” Dis answered as Dwalin swore under his breath. “You can thank your cousin for that by the way.”

            “Thorin,” Dwalin shouldn’t have been surprised. “What did he do?”

            Dis cocked an eyebrow and answered quietly, “Pretty much insinuated that the kid was homeless or a stray.”

            Dwalin hung his head. “Bleeding Christ!” Thorin really needed to get laid or someone needed to lay him out—cold! Oh well, nothing to do about it now. “I guess that puts an end to tonight’s entertainment for me.”

            Dis nodded but her smirk was barely concealed. “For tonight, maybe. Unless you want to give up completely.”

            “What do you suggest?” Dwalin asked flatly. “I go door-to-door in all of greater London? Or have you got the number for that Holmes guy?”

            “No,” Dis said, producing what looked like a security ID badge from behind her back. “But there _is_ always tomorrow.” She held out her hand for Dwalin to take the badge. “I didn’t notice this by his chair until after he left.”

            Dwalin looked down at the ID in his hand.

 

_Ori Ryson_

_House Proud Magazine_

_Graphic Department_

_Assistant Director_

_Ori. What a lovely name._ Dwalin could just imagine what it would be like to let it rolled off his tongue as his tongue did other things to young Ori Ryson.

            “He’s going to need that tomorrow morning,” Dis said softly, in a way that barely hid the conspiratory tone of her voice. “ _Maybe,_ someone should meet him at his work early and give it back to him.”

            Dwalin just looked at Dis in awe. _Damn, she’s a sneaky bitch—God love her!_

 

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

_**BILBO AND ORI'S LONDON FLAT** _

 

 

            “Honey, I’m home!” Ori called out, jokingly.

            Bilbo’s laughter floated out of the kitchen. “How did the interview go?”

            “Great,” Ori dumped his things on the dining room table. “Max loved my stuff and said that he hadn’t seen work as good as mine in ages.”

            “I knew they would love you!” Bilbo was cutting up a cucumber and didn’t need to turn to look at Ori. “How’d you like the department overall?”

            “Everyone seemed nice.” Ori snagged a carrot off the counter to nibble on while watching Bilbo work. “Darcy seemed a bit twitchy, and the black-haired guy was a bit—off. But overall, they were fine.”

            “Darcy’s always nervous,” Bilbo said with shrug. “But he’s a great guy; he would totally give you the shirt off his back. And the black haired guy, George, was in a bad accident a few years ago; he hasn’t been the same since. However, he’s the best photographer—but just don’t expect anything before the last minute.”

            “Well, I want to thank you,” Ori said, finishing the carrot and eyeing another one. “I really appreciate you getting me that job.”

            Bilbo stopped and gave Ori a very serious look. “That’s kind of you, but _you_ got you the job. I only told you it was available, that’s it.”

            Ori flushed, but was nonetheless pleased with the compliment. “Well . . . I still appreciate it.” Ori grabbed a second carrot. “Can I help with dinner?”

            “Other than leaving the carrots alone, no,” Bilbo said leveling a good-natured but pointed look in Ori’s direction, “I have this well under control.” Bilbo finished chopping the cucumber, placed it in the salad and then reached for a red onion. “Of course, you _could_ open and pour us some wine if you are so inclined.”

            “Red or white?” Ori asked going to wine bottles.

            “I made stuffed shells with tomatoes, so let’s have red.”

            Ori picked out a bottle, opened a 2011 French Merlot and let it breathe while he cleared his things off the table and put them in his room. He set Dwalin’s card on his drafting table for later—he had plans.

            He went back and poured two glasses and brought them into the kitchen. Bilbo was cleaning up now that the salad was made and gladly accepted the offered glass from Ori.

            “Slainte!” Bilbo said raising his glass to Ori who did the same. “So, tell me all about your future husband.”

            Ori took a deep breath and sighed. He wasn’t one for mooning over a guy. He was a firm believer in what is, is, and if you miss a chance—then so be it. There are plenty of guys in the world.

            But this was different—it _felt_ different. And for the first time, Ori felt like he wanted to chase the moon.

            Ori proceeded to tell Bilbo about his fall. He told of being breathless and waxed a bit poetic about Dwalin and his looks. Bilbo listened very nicely, asked few questions and just let Ori go on. But Ori didn’t notice the Bilbo’s face become more and more mask-like, nor see the concern in Bilbo’s eyes. Then again, this was Bilbo’s M.O.

            “He sounds,” Bilbo said when Ori finally slowed down, “nice.”

            “Nice?!” Ori was sure he wasn’t unclear. “After all that, all I get is ‘nice?’”

            “Ori, you just met him,” Bilbo replied. “You don’t know anything about him.”

            “That’s what dates are for!”

            Bilbo just shook his head. “I just hate to see you rush into anything.”

            “Bil, I was kidding with the husband bit! I’m not going to go rushing off to Saint Paul’s tomorrow in a white gown!”

            “I don’t believe white would be appropriate,” Bilbo teased, which earned him a two-finger salute. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” Bilbo’s mood seemed to suddenly turn somber and he turned away to get the food out of the oven.

            _I just don’t want to see you get hurt._

            That was Bilbo’s favorite phrase. Ever since that horrible summer two years ago, Bilbo had started with the _‘I don’t want to see you get hurt.’_ Bilbo never elaborated and Ori didn’t want to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was send Bilbo over the edge and trigger an attack or fit of depression. Bilbo had Dr. Grey to chat with and if Bilbo wanted to share with Ori he would.

            Bilbo had always been there for him when they were kids. They were there for each other in their teens and now, as adults, Ori would be there for Bilbo. It had a sort of strange feeling of completion if he thought about it—which just wasn’t often. Bilbo was as close to a brother as one could be and not be blood and Ori knew Bilbo felt the same of him.

            “Don’t worry Bil,” Ori said coming up behind Bilbo, wrapping his arms around his shoulders to hug him. “I’ll be careful.”

            Bilbo reached up and touched Ori’s arms as they rested on his chest. “I just don’t want anything to hurt you.”

            “It won’t,” Ori whispered before deciding to brighten the mood. “Now, let’s eat! I’m starved!” They both laughed and started taking the food to the table.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Thorin marched down the hallway with his gaze focused on the report in his hand. He didn’t need to watch where he was going—his feet were on autopilot, but also, everyone stepped out of his way; it was a given.

            He closed in on his sister’s office and started speaking the second or two before he actually crossed the threshold.

            “I needed you to look—” Thorin started and then stopped.

            He was staring at an empty desk chair. He glanced down at his watch—it was only six o’clock. Where the hell was Dis? It was then that he noticed that her purse and coat—usually on the chair in the corner, were missing as well.

            He stepped back out and turned his head to see her secretary come down the hall with her coat on. “Where’s Ms. Durin?” Thorin asked. He couldn’t remember the woman’s name and frankly, didn’t care.

            “I believe she is in Mr. Fundinson’s office.” The woman said as she opened the lowest drawer of her desk and removed her purse. “Is there anything you need, sir?”

            Thorin released an annoyed sigh. “No.” He turned and stalked off. Naturally, he missed the eye-roll thrown at him by the woman as she made her own exit.

            Was there some meeting and they neglected to inform him? Had something happened and they failed to notify him? Or had they just decided to have fucking happy hour in Dwalin’s office and play around? Of course, any of these scenarios only served to darken Thorin’s mood further.

            Thorin found them in Dwalin’s office—Dis had her coat on and purse slung over her shoulder and was talking rapidly, while Dwalin was nodding and working his way into his overcoat.  

            Thorin didn’t pay any attention to what was said—he didn’t care anyway. “Going somewhere?” he barked out.

            Dis looked like she wanted to say something but Dwalin beat her to it.

            “Yes,” Dwalin spat back. He didn’t elaborate and shot a look to Thorin that told him that was all he was getting for an answer. Dis just stared back and also offered nothing.

            Thorin could feel his last nerve start to snap. “Oh, fine. Let’s not let work get in the way of the hot piece of arse!” Thorin turned to leave but didn’t get the chance to move.

            “Fuck you!” Dwalin shouted. Thorin opened his mouth to respond but Dwalin was already on him. “I’m sick and tired of your shit, Thorin!”

            “My shit?!” Thorin was not in any mood for this.

            “Just because work is the only thing you get a boner for, doesn’t mean the rest of us have stopped fucking living!” Dwalin was done, he was over it. “For your information, you fucking git, I have dinner with Balin to _discuss_ bloody work. Not that my plans are any of your fucking business!” He shoved his way past Thorin and stalked off, himself.

            Thorin stood there, incensed. He wanted to continue the argument with Dwalin, but his sister’s voice brought him back to the present.

            “Lovely, Thorin,” Dis said as she slid past him. “Brilliant way to end the day.”

            “You know what—” but Thorin never got to finish.

            “Don’t start with me!” Dis rounded on him like a banshee. “I’m heading home to a sick child who needs his mother right now, and frankly, I don’t give a god-damn about whatever you think I should know.”

            Thorin was taken aback. “Who’s sick?” The only things Thorin saw as good in his life where his nephews.

            “Well, that would be Kili—and you would know that if you got your nose out of those useless reports you ride everyone’s arse about, or got your own arse out of your office now and then.”

            “Look, I’m trying to run a business here, but—” once again, Thorin didn’t get to finish.

            “Do me a favor, Thorin,” Dis said with a saccharine smile, “why not take all those reports of yours and put them on my desk. I know just where I’d like to stick ‘em!” With that parting shot, she turned and _she_ stalked off.

            Thorin fumed all the way back to his office and slammed the door.        

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dinner was wonderful and Ori offered to clean up—the least he could do, but Bilbo had said no, he wanted the time to get away from his current article for the magazine; something to do with potted herbs or herb gardens or whatever.

            Ori took the opportunity to take a nice hot bath and just soak. He could feel the day just wash off him and it was good to just relax. Of course, it didn’t take long for his mind to wander to Dwalin. He tried to rationalize things, like the chances being slim of seeing him again, of maybe reading into the looks as more than just the guy being nice or flirty—hell, Dwalin probably didn’t even remember him at this point in the evening. _No_ , Ori told himself, _just let it go. What was the point in obsessing about something that was probably nothing, to begin with?_

            Of course that little voice in the back of his mind—the one that wore the little red devil horns and whispered of things best left alone—started up and pointed out a few things. One, Dwalin did more than just flirt and Ori knew it— _did he?_ Two, look at the fact that he brought Ori his favorite tea— _coincident, nothing more_. Maybe, but then that very fashionable lady made a point of handing over Dwalin’s card— _maybe she was just trying to drum up business._

            The little voice laughed at that last one.

            By the time he got out of the bath and had his sleep clothes on, he was actually wide awake. He sat at this drafting table and played with Dwalin’s business card, flipping it between his fingers over and over and staring at the picture whenever it was right-side up. He didn’t even realize at first when he reached for his pencils and started drawing Dwalin’s face and working down from there—Ori had quite the imagination and he had no problem imagining Dwalin in various ways.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            By the time he walked in the door, Thorin was done. He had gotten to work early, worked through lunch and, of course, finished late. Hell, most of the time, he felt like he was the only fucking person working there!

            If he didn’t get things done, who would? Dis was so wrapped up with the boys—and frankly, he wasn’t sure how she put up with a husband that was a stay-at-home dad! Vili should be working in _Thorin’s_ opinion but that was _their_ problem not his—Dwalin was good, but spent so much time chasing the next hot piece-of-arse that came along that Thorin thought it amazing Dwalin was able to get out of bed, let alone get his work done!

            And Thorin’s father—prick that he was half the time—was the only person Thorin wished _didn’t_ work as much as he did. He _hated_ dealing with the man’s idiotic ideas and annoying presence.

            But of course, he had to go to work and put a fucking smile on, lest he upset anyone. _They haven’t a clue about real life._

            _Fuck it all_ , he thought, then made his way to the liquor cabinet. He needed a drink.

            Thorin poured himself a double of Highland Park and headed into the bedroom. The maid had been there so everything was spic and span. Thorin liked neatness, after almost ten years in the army; he had gotten used to living an orderly life. He didn’t like a mess or things out of order or unpredictability. Frankly, that was the hallmark of the small-minded and little people.

            He kicked off his shoes with a wince, put them in the closet, hung up his jacket and tie, and removed his belt. He took a gulp of the scotch and felt the familiar burn settle in his stomach. It helped a great deal. He removed his shirt and put that in the laundry. He figured he would listen to his messages, order some food or something and then take a shower. He padded back into the main room to refill his glass as he finished his first and hit the play button on the answering machine as he walked past.

            There was that fucking beep that made his teeth grind and then the messages played. One from his mother about his birthday party—as if he was a five-year-old and needed a fucking party!—one from his father wanting to meet for tennis one night after work, _Thanks for the offer, Dad, but gee, did you forget I can't fucking play anymore,_ and—surprise, surprise—introduce him to some _“people.”_ Thorin wanted to rip the phone out of the wall. He knew what “people” meant: Thrain had some woman he wanted Thorin to meet. Regardless of the fact that Thorin was gay and had zero interest.

            Thrain just never fucking gave up.

            The last message was from Dr. Grey wanting to move their appointment ahead one hour and could Thorin please call him back and confirm? Whatever. As if Thorin didn’t have anything fucking better to do than sitting around and rearrange his schedule!

            Second double in hand, Thorin took a healthy swig. The scotch was starting to work and he was feeling better already. Or at least more numb and really, it was the same thing as far as Thorin was concerned.

            After checking the fridge— _Fucking nothing worth eating_ —Thorin decided to just call for Thai after his shower and be done with it. He took his drink and headed back to the bedroom.   As he walked in, he turned the TV on, just for background noise and sat to peel his socks off.

            Instantly the room was filled with the blaring sound of some commercial – obviously, the maid had had the TV on when she was here and hadn’t turned it down before she left. Thorin _hated_ when people fucked with his stuff. He reached for the controller to turn the volume down but he didn’t get that far. The channel cut back to the news and Thorin froze as the announcer began talking about the ongoing war.

            Thorin couldn’t move. He could only stand there, wide-eyed and staring, as the large screen TV showed a grainy battle scene. Thorin flinched as an explosion went off and the voice-over started talking about casualties. There were more explosions and sounds of rockets and gunfire. He wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t . . . he couldn’t stop.

            Thorin felt the tremor start in his right arm and suddenly he couldn’t breathe as if he was suffocating. The room was spinning and he was only vaguely aware of stumbling back, reaching for the wall, the bathroom door frame, _anything_ to keep him upright. He _did_ feel the sweat breaking out all over him as his head filled with shouting, screaming, and visions of carnage.

            _Pull back, have to pull back, can’t breathe, can’t see, where_ is _everyone, what’s happening, gunfire, shouting, yelling, someone screaming, who’s screaming, is that Smithson, no it can’t be Smithson, he’s dead, oh god—I think it’s me, that’s_ me _—oh God, oh God, please, I don’t want to die like this, please, I don’t want to die, not here, not alone, he’ll never forgive me if I die, pull back, PULL BACK—a rocket—a rocket coming in, can hear the whine, GET BACK, huge explosion and there’s only pain . . . pain and blood and screams and death._

Thorin tried to blink away the sweat running into his eyes. He couldn’t find the bottle, and he _needed_ the bottle with the blue pills. The room was tilting; he was going to go down in a minute. Everything on the bathroom counter went flying as he finally reached for the bottle and pulled the lid off. Pills went everywhere but he didn’t care, he had one—thank God—and swallowed it whole. He wasn’t even aware of reaching for his phone in his pocket or dialing the number. He just sat on the tiled floor and closed his eyes and tried to hear the ringing over the rush of blood in his ears, hoping someone picked up on the other end.

            “Hello,” a deep, calm voice came through the phone.

            Thorin wanted to say something; anything but he couldn’t, he could only gasp for air.

            “Thorin?” The voice said.

            “Dr. Grey,” was all Thorin could get out, his voice shaking.

            “Breathe, Thorin . . . just breathe.”

            Thorin tried to focus on the other man’s voice and breathe as the tremors racked his whole body and the rest of the world was forgotten.

 

 

 


	3. TUESDAY - First Dates and Last times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the first time can be the last time ...

* * *

 

            Ori was in a panic. “Bil!  Have you seen my ID badge?! I’ve lost it.”

            Bilbo shuffled into the living area, tying his robe about him, still in the blurry state of waking up. “Did you check under the table?” Bilbo asked as he watched Ori dump out his saddlebag.

            “Yes.”

            “In your portfolio?”

            “Yes.”

            “In your trouser pockets from yesterday?”

            “Yes!”

            “Then you’ve lost your ID badge.”

            Ori stopped long enough to give his beloved best friend a _Fuck-you-up-the-arse_ look before searching his portfolio again—just in case. “Shit! I so _didn’t_ want to start my morning like this!”

            “How _did_ you want to start it?” Bilbo quipped as he went to make coffee.

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Ori said stopping for moment—thoughts of Dwalin playing at the edge of his imagination. “I wouldn’t mind waking up with a burly guy pressed up against me; my arse still a little sore from the night before.” That made them both laugh out loud.

            “Sweetie,” Bilbo throwing Ori a smirk, “That’s a Saturday morning not a Tuesday morning.” That earned him a chuckle as Ori resumed his search.

            This situation was exactly the reason Ori didn’t believe in all that luck crap—because if he did, he would start believing that it had run out, _again_ , and not believing was so much better for his state of mind. Not only lost his badge, but no hot guy either – talk about unlucky. Of course, Bilbo’s suggestions didn’t help with said state of mind at the moment.

            “Look,” Bilbo said amused at Ori’s crazed search as he poured himself some coffee. “You have two choices. One, you could stop by security, tell them someone tried to mug you last night, and in the struggle—all they got away with was your badge. Put a very pitiful look on your face and inform them that you are worried that someone might use it to get into the building. Your concerns may very well get them to wave the replacement fee—especially if you turn on the cuteness.”

            “I can’t lie about something like that!” Ori called out from his room as the sound of things being tossed about floated out into the apartment.

            “Well,” Bilbo called back after swallowing a good bit of liquid fuel, “your second choice then is to simply pay the twenty quid for a new badge.”

            “ _TWENTY QUID!”_ Ori poked his head out of his room with a horrified look on his face. “That’s fucking mental!”

            Bilbo just shrugged. “It used to be five, but so many people used to come in on Monday mornings having lost their badges Friday night at the bars, that they upped the price.” Bilbo took another big swig of coffee and nodded at the thought. “Must have worked because people now guard their badges like Ollie Locke guards his face.”

            Ori came back into the living area—he put his hands on his hips, huffed out a sigh and seemed to deflate; a sure sign he’d given up. “Do you think I can pull off the whole mugging thing with the security guys?” He really wasn’t the best at lying. He kind of sucked at it.

            Bilbo looked at him for a minute than went into his bedroom. When he came back out, he held out his hand with a twenty-pound note for Ori along with a shit-eating grin, and said, “Have a good day.”

            Ori was tempted to tell Bilbo to go fuck himself hard, but instead said, “Thank you.” Ori went back to the bathroom and checked his look—Burberry inspired outfit with his fashionably messy hair—perfect. He grabbed his coat and went to get his stuff. “What’s on your schedule for the day?” Ori asked putting on his coat.

            Bilbo finished his coffee and walked back to the kitchen. “I have to finish that piece on potted herb gardens, and then edit my latest short before submitting it, and this afternoon I am going to see Andy.”

            “Tell him I said hello.”

            “Will do.” Bilbo poked his head out of the kitchen and gave Ori a smile. “Have a great first day.”

            “Thank you—I plan on it.” Ori grabbed his messenger bag, checked to make sure he had everything—wallet, keys, Oyster card—and headed out the door.

            The tube was crowded and he ended up having to stand. It wasn’t long before he was lost in his own thoughts with the gentle sway of the train. His mind quickly wandered back to Dwalin. It was unusual for him to obsess about a guy; usually once the opportunity was missed he would just move on. He wasn’t one of those that wandered past the guy’s work, or made up reasons to call, or follow him about and plan on running into him ‘accidentally’ or even stare for hours on end into nothing, dreaming of _what-could-be_ or that kind of stuff—that was for stalkers.

            But then that lecherous little voice started up inside his head. It reminded him of the business card he had on his art table at home—not to mention the artwork it inspired; it pointed out that Ori knew _exactly_ where Dwalin worked; it whispered that there _had been_ a sort of connection between them and it spoke to that part of Ori’s mind that said that there was absolutely nothing wrong in calling the man and saying thank you—why, it would only be polite! And if there was a casual mention of grabbing a bite or meeting for drinks or an off-handed remark in the nature of a sexual innuendo, what was the harm.

            Right? _Right?_

            Ori shook his head and realized that he was approaching his stop. Yes, he minded the gap and walked up to the street above.

            As he looked up to the sky, he remembered about the rain yesterday and made a mental note to call his old job and arrange to get all his things back. He hated the idea of going back there—he was sure there would be backhanded apologies—“ _we’re so sorry, but”—_ not to mention a little begging for him to stay. He knew he wouldn’t give in this time; he just didn’t want to have to deal with all that.

            Move on, that was his motto.

            As he approached the building, he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he failed to notice the brick wall of a man wearing a silver colored Brioni suit leaning casually against the wall in front of him.

            “I think I have something you want, laddie.” A deep voice rumbled that brought Ori to a dead stop and gasp.

            There was his Knight, holding out— _HIS BADGE_!

            “Bloody hell!” Ori exclaimed. “Where did you find it?”

            “You dropped it by the chair you sitting in yesterday,” Dwalin answered as he straightened up and stood in front of Ori.

            “Thank you—you just saved me twenty quid.”

            “Always glad to be of service.”

            Ori’s mind raced at the idea of _service._ “Well, I guess I should at least buy you a coffee as a way of thanking you.”

            “How about instead,” Dwalin said as his eyes darkened a bit, “you thank me properly over dinner tonight?”

            Ori watched as Dwalin unbuttoned his suit jacket and put his hands in his pockets; Ori wasn’t fooled. Clearly his knight knew _exactly_ what that maneuver did because the man’s dress shirt stretched tight across his body and made his muscular chest even more prominent—hell, it even made the buttons strain enticingly. Ori had to admit, even if it was just to himself, it was an impressive view—it was just that he wasn’t going to fall for that! Cheeky bastard!

            _Fine if the bloke wants to play,_ Ori thought amusedly, _let’s play._

Ori put on his most sincerely apologetic face. “That’s a lovely offer, but,” and here he placed a well-timed disappointed sigh, “with a new job and all, I don’t think dinner during the work week is a good idea. How about Friday night?”

            Dwalin’s face fell almost enough to make Ori laugh out loud, but he held it together and waited for the next move.

            “Friday isn’t necessarily good for me, but—”

            “Oh in that case,” Ori said cutting Dwalin. “We’ll have to do lunch today then.”

            “Lunch. Today.” Dwalin stammered out like Ori was speaking a Third World-language and he didn’t hear right.

            “Great! I’ll see you at one!” Ori said with a smile and as he made to walk past Dwalin, he reached out and patted the man on the chest; quick but firm—just to tease.

            “But, I don’t—”

            “I know a great little place, don’t worry.”

            “Yes, but—”

            “And we’ll go Dutch treat.”

            “Ori—I’m very—”

            “I’m very excited too!” Ori threw Dwalin a brilliant smile as he finally walked past and made to go inside. He hoped his amusement wasn’t too evident in his expression.

            Ori didn’t get three steps before Dwalin spoke up for the last time. “I have a meeting—”

            Ori spun around quick as a flash. “Oh, well then, let’s make it noon.” Ori turned and walked off as he called he called over his shoulder. “See you at lunch, Mr. Fundinson.”

            Ori didn’t wait to hear if there were any more objections or sputtering from the charmingly roguish, Dwalin Fundinson. But that didn’t mean he didn’t giggle at the thought of what that man’s expression might have been.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            _What the fuck just happened?_

            For the life of him, Dwalin couldn’t figure out where he screwed up. One minute he was holding Ori’s badge and had the upper hand. The next, he was watching Ori walk away with the promise of lunch when Dwalin knew damn well that he would have to cancel one meeting—Thorin’s meting at that, and probably some phone calls and—shit, he didn’t even _eat_ fucking lunch!

            By the time he got back to office—he still hadn’t figured it out.

            “Carolyn,” Dwalin said, walking up to his secretary, “what’s on my schedule at noon and immediately after?”

            Carolyn tapped a few keys on her computer and looked at the screen. “You have a scheduled call with Mister Eliot at twelve, another call with Mister and Missus Bennett at twelve thirty, and your brother wants to meet with you this afternoon regarding the merger between Telemax and Global.” She made to look away but jerked her gaze back at Dwalin. “Oh, and, of course, Mister Durin’s weekly hour-long update meeting at one.”

            Dwalin sighed, “Contact Eliot and reschedule for later this afternoon or tomorrow—his choice; call the Bennetts, ask them to contact me at home this weekend—they have my number. Tell my brother he and I can have dinner tonight—unless he has other plans, then we can meet first thing tomorrow morning.” Dwalin made to walk into his office when a thought hit him. “Oh and let Mister Durin’s _secretary_ know that I _probably_ won’t be at his meeting this afternoon.” Carolyn looked at him surprised as both her eyebrows headed towards her perfectly coiffed hairline. “And you don’t have to inform her of that until twelve fifty-five.” Carolyn was a willing conspirator whenever Dwalin did anything that they knew would piss Thorin off. It just made her more indispensable as far as Dwalin was concerned.

            Carolyn smirked but totally understood. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on those.” She made to turn away. “Oh, one last thing, Mr. Fundinson,” she said, stopping Dwalin on the threshold of his office. “Can I assume you’ll be out of the office, at noon?”

            “Yes.”

            “If anyone should ask after you, is there anything in particular I should tell them.”

            “Just tell them I had a lunch meeting.”

            “Lunch?” came a familiar, silky voice from behind him.

            Dwalin turned his head to glare at Dis for a moment or two before glancing back at his secretary. “That’ll be all, Carolyn.”

            Dwalin moved to his desk, hung his coat over the back of his chair and sat down. Dis didn’t ask, but came in and closed the door. Dwalin started going through the papers in front of him in an effort to ignore her while she took a seat in front of the desk and put her feet up on the edge—her tailored pant suit making her long legs look longer and sexier in a way even Dwalin could appreciate. She wore a look that had him thinking of a spider that had a fly in her web.

            “So tell me,” Dis asked quietly, folding her arms across her chest. “Does this _lunch meeting_ have anything to do with our young Mister Ryson?”

            Dwalin continued looking at the paperwork before him. _Maybe she’ll go away,_ Dwalin mused—but of course, the little voice inside him laughed at that. “Yes, it does,” Dwalin said, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands on the edge of the desk. “If you must know.”

            “I must,” Dis said with a sly smile. “What I can’t figure out though is: why lunch? You don’t eat lunch. You call it a waste of time.”

            “Nothing saying I can’t change my mind,” Dwalin shrugged as casually as he could.

            “That’s a woman’s line,” Dis raised an eyebrow.

            “Sod off,” Dwalin replied cheerily before returned to looking at the paperwork but clearly Dis wasn’t buying any of it—she laughed.

            “Okay,” Dis dropped her legs and leaned forward. “What’s the deal? ‘Fess up.”

            Dwalin sat back and huffed out a great sigh in frustration—not just because of Ori but because he knew Dis would bug him until he spilled every last detail. He should just tell her and get it over with.

            “I don’t understand,” Dwalin stated, as he folded his arms across his chest. “One minute I was the one holding all the cards and the next, I was dealt out.”

            “Spare me the poker metaphors,” Dis said rolling her eyes, “just tell me what happened.”

            So Dwalin did—he told word for word. He shared his views on what he thought Ori’s motives might be and frankly, even after sharing with Dis all that had happened, all he guessed, all he assumed—he was still no closer to an understanding. Where exactly had he gone wrong? When it was done Dis just sat back and had one of those damned, _I-know-what-you-don’t-because-I-think-you’re-an-idiot_ smiles on her face. Those always pissed him off.

            Dis chuckled under her breath. “Now, let me get this straight; you’re telling me that you lost control of the conversation, almost immediately?”

            “Yes.”

            “And no matter how you tried to tell him you were not interested in lunch, he steamrolled over you anyway.”

            “Yes.”

            “And you came back here and cleared your schedule so that you could meet him for a lunch you didn’t want to have in the first place?”

            “YES! What else do want me to say?”

            “It’s just tough to take in,” Dis said as shrugged, clearly amused. “Dwalin Fundinson—The King of Kensington, The Wolf of Soho, the Corrupter of the Young and Dumb—has had a young man tell him how high and he’s _jumped_.”

            “Oh, sod off!” Dwalin didn’t like how any of that sounded.

            “Did you do your little, unbuttoned jacket routine?” Dis quipped with a sardonic arch of one sculptured eyebrow.

            Dwalin avoided Dis’ eyes—lest she know the truth, which was useless because she already did.

            “He’s totally got your number,” Dis said with a quiet air of satisfaction. At that, she stood up and walked to the door. But before leaving, she turned to shoot him a smirk and one last question. “So, are you going to go to lunch, or will you stand him up?”

            Dwalin felt like he _should_ stand Ori up, work through lunchtime and show Dis just how wrong she was; teach that boy a lesson that _no one_ dictates to Dwalin Fundinson; that he was one in charge and get that damned straight right now!

            So when he opened his mouth, he told Dis, “Of course I’m going to go to lunch.” Because, in the end, he really should do what he wanted and what he really wanted was to see Ori.

            Dis’ smirk turned into a toothy grin. “I don’t know much about this Mister Ryson, but I like him already.” Dis walked out.

            Dwalin just hung his head and sighed. _Yeah, me too,_ he thought as he heard Dis’ laughter echo back at him from down the hall.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Ori had a wonderful first day—which of course, he had hoped for but wasn’t necessarily expecting. Yesterday, he wondered why they were looking for an assistant director outside of the company—why not just promote from within? Well, after meeting all the designers in Graphics, he understood. Darcy, senior designer, was way too twitchy and nervous, George, the chief photographer, was too wrapped up in his own things to worry about anyone else—let alone deadlines. Then there was Kat, secondary photographer, who Ori liked a great deal, but who didn’t seem to like any man that wasn’t gay, there was Lydia, type and layout designer, who reminded Ori of Delores Umbridge but without the magical abilities, and then finally Juan-Pedro, photography assistant, who not only acted as if he was Casanova reborn, but spent most of the time trying to flirt with Kat—which probably explained Kat’s extreme dislike of straight men. Max seemed like a good director but he was one of those people that shut down as soon as he got too stressed. They needed someone who could rise above it all and keep Max on track—enter Ori.

            By noon, though, he was ready for a break—he was ready for lunch. Max, Darcy and Kat had invited him to go to an Indian place around the corner, but Ori refused politely. Despite his earlier cheek and coercion, he very much wanted to have lunch with Dwalin.

            Nothing about Dwalin made sense to Ori. For starters, there was the whole flirty, power-struggle thing. If it had been anyone else, Ori would have walked away, unimpressed and not bothered—he was no man’s fool! But with Dwalin, it was more than just flirting, it was fun, it was thrilling, it was almost a battle of wills and Ori had _liked_ it! Ori may have won this round, but he had feeling that Dwalin wouldn’t take his shit anymore than he would take Dwalin’s—he had no delusions that there wouldn’t be more battles along the way. But that just made it feel even more exciting!

            His coworkers were still trying to get him to change his mind as they exited the building, but Ori was a little distracted looking for Dwalin. His knight was not where he was this morning and Ori got a sinking feeling that maybe he was getting stood up. _Well, if that’s the case, then so be it!_ Ori thought, starting to heat up. _If Mister Fickle-Fundinson’s going to let a little bit of teasing ruin something so…._

            “Looking for someone?” Dwalin’s voice sounded near and Ori spun around to find that the man had snuck up behind him.

            “Not anymore,” Ori said with a sly smile.

            Dwalin wasted no time and swooped down and placed a kiss on Ori’s cheek that left a wondrous tingling sensation behind. It was just a moment or two later that Ori realized that he had three people standing stock-still behind him.

            Max, Darcy and Kat were all looking at Dwalin in different states of awe. Max looked like had been struck dumb, Darcy, poor guy, looked like he was going to have a stroke but Kat slowly looked Dwalin up and down with her acquisitive eyes—like a searchlight.

            Finally, Kat flicked her long hair off her shoulder, licked her lips absentmindedly and turned to Ori. “Oh, yeah,” she said with a sweet but lecherous smile, “I’d turn us down for lunch too!” She grabbed Max and Darcy by the back of their collars. “Come, _ladies_.” She propelled them along as she called over her shoulder. “Have a nice lunch, Ori, and—uhm—don’t rush back!”

            Ori could only laugh—especially when Max and Darcy almost tripped into each other as they tried to look back while they were dragged away.

            “Have you known her for long?” Dwalin asked, clearly wondering at the overly familiar way she talked to Ori.

            “No,” Ori said shaking his head and turning to look at the man. “Just since this morning, really. However, I fear that Kat already has me figured out.”

            “There’s a lot of that going around,” Dwalin said dryly.

            Ori just giggled unabashed. “Did I totally ruin your schedule?”

            “Honestly or not honestly?” Dwalin asked with smile.

            “Honestly,” Ori stated.

            “You destroyed my afternoon,” Dwalin said, matter-of-factly, “You caused me to reschedule two phone calls—one very important, by the way—reschedule a meeting with my brother regarding a multi-million pound merger and I cancelled my attendance in a meeting that my cousin is going to have a shit-fit over it when I get back in the office.”

            Ori just smiled. “And how about _not honestly?”_

            Dwalin shook his head and let a broad smile grace his face. “What schedule?”

            Ori laughed. “I think I like _not honestly_ better,” Ori said with a canary-eating smile.

            Dwalin shrugged his shoulders. “What’s a couple of million pounds when compared to lunch with a beautiful young man?”

            Ori kept smiling but raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to score points with me?”

            “Not at all,” Dwalin replied with mock seriousness as he leaned down to whisper in Ori’s ear. “Believe me, points are not what I want to score with you.”

            Ori had to hand it to him, Dwalin was a smooth one. Not that it bothered him. “You’re very sure of yourself aren’t you, Mister Fundinson?”

            “No more than you were this morning, Mister Ryson,” Dwalin said quietly, then placed a hand on Ori’s lower back to gently guide him forward.

            At that moment, neither of them cared a whit about lunch.

           

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

           

            “ . . . and let’s not forget, that though they’re one of our smaller accounts, the MacNeely Group is a valued client. Not to be lost in the midst of this Telemax/Global merger that’s been consuming our resources,” Thorin added grimly, glancing around the room and meeting each eye pointedly, just to make certain no one got the idea that now was a time to be slacking or nodding off.

            Some of the people present even nodded—especially Oin, who sat farthest away from where Thorin stood; though how much of Thorin’s reminder the man may have heard depended entirely upon how well his hearing aid was working and if he had it turned up enough.

            Dis sat staring at her notes—or the page on which notes _would have_ been written, had she taken any—and tapping her short, but manicured nails on the huge, wooden conference table.

            She had briefly glanced up when Thorin had reminded everyone that the company had other clients than Telemax and Global Wireless; her gaze wry and quite sardonic.

            Thorin supposed that, as the lead on the MacNeely Group account, Dis was feeling the strain of also working on the Telexmax/Global Wireless merger, as well as MacNeely, more so than anyone at this table, Thorin included.

            Indeed, she’d probably been doing work on one project or the other before the meeting, and probably would be doing so long after the meeting. Her insouciance quite aside, she had the Durin work ethic in spades.

            Gloin sat next to Dis, nodding sagely, his own notepad covered equally in notes and doodles, with arrows between certain notes and certain doodles. No one, even Thorin, whose penmanship was utterly atrocious, could read Gloin’s handwriting, which bordered on chicken-scratch. But Gloin had, since he was young, taken notes thusly, and far be it from Thorin to change the man, now. Especially when he was so _good_ at what he did. Gloin’s mind for numbers was quite literally genius, as far as Thorin was concerned. A better company accountant was not to be found anywhere. Gloin knew exactly when to pinch pennies, and when to seemingly toss money at something till it tilted in the company’s favor.

            And, next to him sat his son and intern, Gimli, tapping away on his iPad studiously. The damn screen was covered in numbers and symbols of which even Thorin didn’t know the meaning, and accounting terms that would baffle anyone at this table, possibly even Gloin. Gimli’s dark eyes darted from screen to Thorin, fiercely alert and keen. He was almost a carbon copy of Gloin, from his auburn hair and neatly trimmed beard, to his earnest, interested expression.

            Closest to Thorin stood sat Balin, head of Acquisitions. Like Dis, he _never_ took notes, but _unlike_ Dis, at least gave an impression of paying attention to Thorin and his presentation. He’d, as always, had several insightful questions that’d not only showed he was paying close attention, but that’d helped push the meeting forward in a way Thorin appreciated. Balin always had a way of seeing directly to the heart of a matter, and not just when it came to business.

            And usually, next to his brother Balin, _would be_ Dwalin. This wasn’t the case today.

            Thorin went on with the latest updates on the biggest merger the company had ever handled. It was, frankly, after all his own judicious research and study, his own reading up and hunting down of pertinent information from the different departments, something Thorin could do on autopilot, and did.

            However, a part of his mind wandered back to Dwalin. The empty chair a blaring reminded of his cousin’s failure to attend, and Thorin felt his simmering anger ratcheted up another notch. He tried to stuff it down but the slow boil only seemed to hold steady.

            Where Dwalin could possibly be that was more important than the weekly meeting escaped him, until the likely answer Thorin came up with barreled into Thorin’s mind; one he didn’t like. _He’s probably out charming his way into the pants of some new cute, young, dumb thing_ , , and he sneered, not even realizing he was doing so. _Probably starting yet another ten-day “relationship” that’ll go exactly nowhere when Dwalin realizes his conquest can barely hold a conversation even if it had fucking handles, let alone hold Dwalin’s fickle attention . . . and he’s pursuing this doomed venture on company time, no less._

            Frowning, Thorin swung his laser pointer/clicker toward the display at the head of the room, clearing his throat when Oin hissed, having nearly been blinded by the light of the pointer.

            “Sorry, Oin,” Thorin turned his eyes and his wandering attention back to the screen and the latest figures, in pie-chart form.

            “ . . . so we’ll have to keep an eye, specifically, on this set of numbers for the foreseeable future. Telemax doesn’t like the way they’re trending, and neither do I,” Thorin said—practically growled, glaring at Dwalin’s usual—currently empty—seat. He did not notice the shrewd looks on Balin’s and Dis’ faces, nor the uncomfortable looks on everyone else’s. Nor did he notice the way he’d paused while staring at Dwalin’s chair, his expression flickering between an obvious rage and a far less obvious look of total devastation.

            Once again, his mind was going walk-about, again, thinking about Dwalin and his near weekly quest for “the One.”

            If Thorin could find an effective way to do it—he’d tell his cousin not to bother. That soulmates didn’t exist. Mr. Right didn’t exist . . . anyone who claimed to be was a liar. Or none too bright and overly romantic.

            As Thorin, himself, had been, once upon a time. . . .

            Suddenly, his mind was flooded and his emotions overtook everything else; Thorin was filled with the sense and memories of _him_ . . . Thorin could feel the whispered tingle in his fingers of running them through curls the color of slow-poured honey; could sense the gaze of soft, hazel-green eyes that seemed to change color depending on the light—oh, yes, Thorin had once understood what it meant to be dazzled by someone’s eyes. And even now, he could almost taste the smooth, fair skin—still moist from the shower, the aroma reminded him of apples and sunny fields. But it was the voice—that silk-soft voice murmuring in his ear that spoke of need, of want, of love and of promises. Promises of fidelity, of loyalty, of so many dreams that could be realized, about their future . . . their _shared_ future . . . so many promises; broken…

            And the more his mind swirled around the absence of the eyes he’d once imagined he’d glimpsed forever in—along with his cousin’s unusual absence—the angrier he got.

            Like a wave, that anger washed away the addictive but unwanted memories of a time when Thorin had thought he’d everything in the palm of hand, and dumped him mercilessly on the shores of the present.

            The present in which he’d arrived having completely forgotten what he was saying while staring at Dwalin’s empty chair.

            “Uhm,” he temporized gruffly, taking a moment to glance at his presentation in the hopes that it might give him some clue as to what he’d been saying. But the screen was blank.

            So, obviously, he’d finished the presentation, and the fact that no one was looking at him as if he’d gone mad—yet—was proof that it’d gone about as expected. But Thorin could not, for the life of him, remember what admonitions and reminders he’d meant to close the presentation and the meeting with.

            And everyone was still looking at him expectantly.

            “I’ll take this moment to pause for questions or concerns,” Thorin improvised to cover his lapse.

            Usually, this would be the point where Balin would ask a question that would allow Thorin to recap his previous points and sum up the meeting. But the older man was, instead, glancing at Dis, who was shrugging in reply, a slight hunching of elegant shoulders. Oin was nodding sagely, as usual, despite being very obviously half-asleep. Gloin and Gimli were taking notes, each in their own way. Thorin could hear the _scratch-scratch-scratch_ of the former’s pen and the _tap-tap-click-tap_ of the latter’s fingertips and nails on his screen. . . .

            “If anyone has any issues they need to be addressed or to see brought to the attention of the president, let’s have them,” Thorin added with a slight force to his voice.  No one did, it seemed. Then again, no one ever really did.  The last thing Thorin or anyone wanted was for issues to be brought directly to Thrain.  Even Oin, living as he did in his own world, knew that Thrain was many things, but a problem-solver was not one of them. His attention would only further muddy the waters one wished to have cleared.

            “Alright, then—meeting adjourned,” Thorin stated, almost sounding disappointed. Everyone started gathering their notes and their personal affects, when Thorin turned to speak to the elder Fundinson. “Balin—if you’d be _so kind_ as to inform your brother of the salient points of the meeting—he missed. . . .”

            “Will do, laddie,” Balin said with a nod.

            “Thank you,” Thorin said gruffly, just loud enough for Balin alone to hear. “At least _one_ Fundinson gives a rat’s arse about this company.”

            “A word, brother-mine?”

            Thorin turned to Dis, who suddenly did _not_ look pleased, if her raised eyebrows and pursed lips were any indication. Balin glanced at her then smiled almost apologetically at Thorin.

            “We’ll talk later, lad. Dis,” Balin nodded his good-bye to Thorin’s sister then took himself off, catching up to Oin and clapping him on the back. Thorin sighed and watched them and the others file out of the conference room before looking back at Dis.

            “That crack about Dwalin was unprofessional and completely uncalled for,” she said coldly, her brows lowering into a scowl that Thorin matched.

            “ _I’m_ unprofessional?!” Thorin snorted. “ _I_ said something uncalled for?! What about yesterday, when you and he _both_ —”

            “Don’t even get me started on that, Thorin Durin!” Dis thrusting a dagger-like finger at him, poking him in the chest, her eyes narrowed angrily. “You came in blustering and looking to tear someone a new arsehole—you didn’t care who. You snapped at us unnecessarily, but then didn’t like it when we. Snapped. _Back_.”

            Glowering, now, Thorin opened his mouth to respond, but Dis was finished.

            “Do you really believe you’re the only one that gives a damn about this company?!” she demanded.   “Or is it that you’re the only one here who has nothing _else_ to care in his life? The rest of us care about the company, too, Thorin, but we also care about _other_ things. We have lives, children, friends, lovers—we have things that occasionally take precedence over your damn weekly meeting where we do nothing but rehash old news!”

            “Look, I understand—”

            “You understand _nothing_ , Thorin.” Dis said sharply. “Or maybe you just don’t want to see reality.” Her shoulders briefly sagging, for a moment, her anger momentarily replaced by something Thorin could almost call despair as she searched his eyes before she blinked it away. “Because reality is this: we all have _lives_ outside this place, but unlike you, we’ll continue to live ours.”

            Thorin was silent as his anger slowly evaporated in the heat of his sister’s glare.

            “Now,” Dis stepped back and put on her suit jacket. “I’m going to go finish the _work_ I was doing before this meeting interrupted it. And I suggest _you_ wrack your brain and figure out how to apologize to Dwalin before you completely alienate another friend you can ill afford to lose.”

            Dis turned and stalked out of the conference room, leaving Thorin alone with only his thoughts and the echo of her words in his head.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            As Dwalin saw it—it was going perfectly.

            He had planned everything out the night before.

            He got out his best suits and laid them out to pick one. Navy blue? Nah, too ‘Thorinish.’ Black? No, too funereal. Olive green? Forget it, too much like being back in the army. Silver grey? Hmmm. It was the newest and even he had to admit—it looked damn good on him. Yeah, the silver one.

            Then came the shirts. Light blue? While? Black? No black—still too funereal. And white just meant that he would, inevitably get something on it. Okay, so silver grey suit, light blue dress shirt and now…tie. But what tie? He had a fucking ton of ties but which one? In the end, he knew he would have to ask for help. But he had Skype, and Dis would help him—tease him mercilessly about it, yes, but she’d still help.

            So, come the morning he was all ready. He had made sure his new car was cleaned and ready—best to make a good first impression. He had even called his cleaning company to make sure his flat was cleaned top to bottom—no good bringing Ori back to a dirty house after dinner either! Of course, Dwalin planned to be distracting enough that he bet Ori didn’t notice the apartment.

            Walking up to Ori’s office building, he was dressed and ready to go.

            Granted, the morning hadn’t gone _quite_ as he expected.

            He got there a bit early, but he figured that Ori would be missing his badge, so he might get there early himself to straighten it out. Sure enough, Ori was just coming down the street not five minutes after, totally distracted in the most adorable, hard-on producing way. And of course, Dwalin had his opening line—filled with innuendo, ready to go. And for maybe a full minute, Dwalin thought it was all in the bag.

            Ori then proceeded to shoot to hell all his plans. The guy saw right through it all and, as Dis so mockingly said, told Dwalin how high to jump.

            Problem was, Dwalin couldn’t really deny that he wasn’t turned on by the whole thing. Once he got over the fact that his cover was blown, he liked the idea that he would have to work to get Ori. He hadn’t had to do that in a very long time—actually he had _never_ really had to do that.

            So, he did what his Army training told him to do. He assessed the situation, devised a plan of attack and figured out the best way to—at the very least—get on an even battleground if he couldn’t totally have the upper hand.

            So, stage one; reorganize the day. He made sure he had plenty of time with Ori, so screw Thorin and his stupid, useless meeting. Stage two; make new reservations for lunch. It had to be somewhere close but just as nice as the dinner arrangements. Stage Three; try to stay ahead of the enemy—or conquest in this case. He got to Ori’s building beforehand and made sure he was out of the way; surprise being the key at this stage. He already knew Ori was keen, he could feel it, and lord knows, Dwalin was keen, so why not push ahead with stage four; the unexpected kiss. That should throw the little dictator off balance enough for Dwalin to get a good foothold.

            Ori’s face was perfect when he was surprised and the blush on his cheek told Dwalin that, yes indeed, his plan had worked! The ride was great, if a bit short—the place was only ten minutes away. But Ori seemed impressed by the car and by the restaurant. Dwalin thought he ate too little, but maybe that was just him.

            Now after a very pleasant lunch, a bit of small talk; Dwalin was heading back and wondering if Ori really meant it about not getting together on a work night—because Dwalin had no issue going to bed early tonight; especially if he had Ori for company.

            Yeah, it was all perfect!

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            As Ori saw it—it was terrible.  

            It had all been so promising.

            All morning long, he couldn’t think of anything but Dwalin. Thank the Lord, it was mostly meet and greet the gang, sit in on the morning meeting, look at the work for the latest issue and, of course, daydream about the handsome man he was having lunch with.

            Ori felt like such a teenager! He could just hear Dori now, tsking and tutting and trying to make him feel guilty for not concentrating on work. But Ori couldn’t help it! For the first time in a long time he felt alive. He’d had that whole flirty-power thing in the morning—he was lucky Dwalin didn’t just tell him to sod off! But he giggled over the way Dwalin had turned up early and returned his badge to him—that had to mean something right?

            When the others wanted to take him to lunch, he knew he should have felt bad about saying no, but just one thought of Dwalin and guilt was the furthest thing from his mind!

            And then, when his co-workers—friends?—looked at Dwalin like he was two scoops of yummy, Ori never felt so proud in his life!

            Then it all went downhill from there.

            First there was the car. Correction, not car—it was a small mutual fund on wheels! He knew Dwalin was well-off, but holy crap—it was a MB-SLR McLaren for Christ’s sake. Ori struggled with the handle for a few moments until Dwalin smiled and said, “You have to pull up and forward.” Which Ori did and, of course, the door swung up and towards the front. Dwalin called them butterfly wings. Ori just saw more pound signs followed by lots and lots of zeros.

            Then there was the restaurant. Ori figured it was lunch—he said Dutch treat, and he had meant it. He thought they would catch a sandwich somewhere or, hell, just get something and sit in the park. But no, Dwalin apparently had other plans, because it was not only a sit down restaurant, but it was fucking Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester! And not any table, mind you—Dwalin had used his connections and had reserved them the private dinning table in the center of the room! Ori almost fell over—lunch here for the two of them would be just under what he made in a week.

            Dwalin of course, chatted away like nothing. He talked about this merger or that takeover. He talked about this client or that celebrity. He talked about his condo in Kingston, his weekend getaway out near Windsor, his _pied-a-terre_ in Paris, right on the _rue du Champ de Mars_. Ori did his best to follow along and nod and hummed in agreement to this or that, but he had to admit—he was lost.

            No, not lost—sad.

            Dwalin was far above him. Too far. And this had to end. Better to do it now and save himself a world of hurt, because frankly—it already hurt too much.

            Ori was quiet the entire way back. He didn’t know what to say or how to respond. Dwalin talked on about all the things he had to do this afternoon; laughing here and there about this or that. Ori tried, he really tried to keep up and just smile and nod.

            Ori did realize one thing, Dwalin was _not_ joking when he talked about the multi-million pound merger; Telemax and Global Wireless were the big talk all over the news. If the two huge telecommunications companies merged, they would become one of the largest data networks—not just in Europe but in the world. Ori just had no idea that in the thick of things was his Dwalin!

            Correction—Mister Fundinson, because Ori certainly didn’t own the man, had no claim on him. In fact, in the end, he had nothing with Dwalin Fundinson. How could he? He was only a Graphic Designer slash artist—if wanted to push it. He had zero to offer a man who had more wealth, power, and influence than Ori could even, probably, dream of—no, _imagine,_ because Ori just couldn’t think that high.

            They pulled up to the curb just a half a block from Ori’s building. As the engine purred to a halt, Ori swore something else died along with it.

            “I had a good time,” Dwalin said, turning to face Ori who unbuckling his seatbelt.

            “Yes,” Ori said, hoping his smile didn’t look as tight as it felt. “It was—it was, very interesting.”

            “Interesting?” Dwalin said, clearly amused. “Is that all I get?”

            “It was very nice,” Ori replied with another tight smile. “Thank you.”

            “Well,” Dwalin’s smile faltered a fraction and a small farrow formed between his eyes. “You’re welcome but a _‘thank you’_ really isn’t needed.”

            _Because this was only a minor distraction,_ Ori’s little voice said, evilly. “I need to get back to work,” Ori looked away and made to grab the door handle. “Thank you again.”

            “Yeah, sure,” Dwalin looked completely perplexed now. “Is there a problem?”

            Ori tugged on the door handle without luck. “No—I’ve just been gone too long.”

            “Right,” Dwalin said a little dryly.

            Ori continued to struggle with the door until he had enough. “Christ! What is it with this damn door?!”

            “Okay, just hang on,” Dwalin huffed and got out. He walked around to the passenger side and swung it open with ease.

            Ori got himself untangled from his seatbelt and dragged himself out of the car; he straightened out his jacket and repositioned his bag angrily.

            “Well,” Ori said, taking a step back. “Thank you for returning my badge; I appreciate it, and thank you again for lunch.” Ori stuck out his hand.

            Dwalin only stared for several seconds before slowly brining his hand up to meet Ori’s. “Don’t _mention_ it,” Dwalin said flatly.

            Ori shook Dwalin’s hand twice and then released it. “I hope the rest of your day gets better, Mr. Fundinson.” Ori tried to look at Dwalin but found he just couldn’t. “Good-bye.” Ori quickly marched off, not waiting for any response from Dwalin.

            All Dwalin could do was stand there. He failed to notice all the people that were sidestepping him due to the dark, stormy expression he wore as he stalked back to his office. Fuck the car, he’ll get one of the errand boys to come back and move it; even he knew he was too angry to trust himself behind the wheel.

            Anger really didn’t cover it. _Seething?_ No, not close. _Incensed?_ Nah, still not there. _Infuriated?_    Hmmm—maybe. He certainly felt full of fury. _Outrage? No—rage_. That was it. _Rage. Yes, uncontrollable, violent._ He could have just taken his fist and put it right through something—a door, a wall, a cement wall, anything, something, someone!

            Dwalin stopped right there, right in the middle of the sidewalk and took a breath. _No._ He took another breath, a deep one. _No. I don’t—I won’t feel that. I refuse to think of Ori and violence at the same time. I just won’t do it. Even if I hurt. . . ._

            That was it. Not rage, not anger, not really—he was feeling hurt. He had wanted this so badly, wanted it to work out so much and in the end he had no idea what happened. Yes, he was angry but he couldn’t say it was at or even about Ori, he was hurt and mad and he just didn’t know what to do, what to say, or who to blame.

            _Maybe there’s no one to blame?_ Dwalin laughed at that. _No, something went wrong and it was something that happened and someone is to blame. I’m to blame._

            Dwalin was calmer when he came through the doors of Durin Investments and he was still too distracted. He didn’t look at anyone—not because of rudeness, but because he just couldn’t be bothered right now.

            “Mister Fundinson—”

            “Not now, Carolyn.”

            “But, sir—”

            “I said, not now!”

            Dwalin stalked into his office and slammed the door. He hadn’t meant the last line to come out so sharp but at the moment he didn’t care and frankly, he knew in the back of his mind that Carolyn had endured worse and from him to boot. It was okay—she was too level-headed to let get to her, that’s what made her great, and besides, Dwalin was perfectly aware that if he overstepped the line, she would have her pay back. That’s why _he_ kept her around—she didn’t take his shit!

            He slumped in his chair and really thought hard. He screwed up somewhere, but the question was where? He did a lot of talking. _Maybe he didn’t want to hear about the merger or business._ Maybe, but Ori didn’t strike him as the type to just sit there. _Maybe he didn’t want to hear all about Dwalin Fundinson._ He did prattle on and on about himself. Damnit. He really needed to watch that. Okay, check, beware of diarrhea of the mouth. _Maybe he didn’t like your choice of restaurant._ But it was the best! How could that be wrong?

            A soft knock sounded on the door.

            “I’m busy!” Dwalin growled out but to no effect; the door opened anyway.

            “Not possible,” Dis said evenly. “You haven’t done anything all day, you can’t be busy.”

            “That’s why I’m busy.” Dwalin barked in reply.

            “Not fooling me,” Dis stated, coming in and taking a sit. “What happened?”

            Dwalin drew a deep breath and just heaved out a sigh as he leaned back in his chair and ran both hands over his smooth pate. He closed his eyes for a moment and readied his thoughts. He would tell Dis everything—she’d find out anyway, so why not just say it.

            “I thought it was going great,” Dwalin said finally.

            “And it didn’t, I take it,” Dis replied.

            “We met, we had a little moment, there were smiles but by the time we got back to his office building, he was quiet—he seemed angry. No, I take that back; he was mad.”

            “Did something happen at the restaurant?” Dis asked. “Did he seem offended by anything?”

            “No,” Dwalin didn’t see anything wrong. “He was quiet, that’s it—but I just figured he was listening.”

            “Listening,” Dis repeated. “That would tell me you were the one talking.”

            “Yeah,” Dwalin shrugged.

            “What did you talk about?”

            “Uhm—work, the Telemax merger, my place by Windsor—Oh! I told him about getting away for the weekend and I asked if he wanted to, maybe go to Paris.”

            Dis shot forward in her seat. “Your Paris apartment?”

            “Yeah.”

            “On the first date—you tell him about a multi-million pound merger you’re working on, and ask him to go away with you for the weekend to Paris, _on the first date_?”

            Dwalin just swallowed. What? Did he do something wrong?!

            Dis changed her attack plan. “Where did you take him for lunch?”

            “Uhm—the French place.”

            “ _‘The French place,’”_ Dis repeated dryly. “Yeah, that narrows it down for me— _what_ French place?”

            “You know,” Dwalin wasn’t good with the name thing. “That one over in Westminster.”

            “Do you mean, _Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester_?!”

            “It’s in the Dorchester Hotel—yeah.”

            Dis changed directions again. “How did you get there?”

            “The Benz,” Dwalin stated matter-of-factly, which reminded him of where it was at. “Carolyn!” Dwalin called out.

            The door opened again. “Yes, sir.”

            “Could you get one of the runners to go move the MacLaren? It’s parked two blocks down on this side of the street.” Dwalin fished out his keys and handed them to Carolyn.

            As Carolyn left, Dis turned back to him with another raised eyebrow.

            “The MacLaren?” Dis drolled.

            “Yeah. So?”

            “Couldn’t have just used the company Mercedes?”

            Dwalin was almost appalled. “I wasn’t going to take him out in some old sedan!”

            “So you picked him up in a car worth more than the gross national product of a small Asian country?”

            “Ori’s different!” Dwalin stated hotly. “He deserves better.”

            “Yes!” Dis said, clearly frustrated. “Ori is different!   Because most of the prats you date couldn’t add two and two together with a fucking calculator!”

            Dwalin just sat there for a moment stunned at the outburst but he couldn’t argue the point either. In fact, she was right, because that was point of dating them—they were no fuss.

            “You are such a git,” Dis said with eye roll. “You finally meet a guy that can match you and what do you do—on the first date, you scare the shit out of him.”

            “What the hell?” Dwalin was more than surprised.

            Dis huffed out a sigh. “You men around here just seem to forget that the average person doesn’t live like you do. You put less effort into impressing a celebrity client and yet for a nice, smart, attractive, but very normal guy like Ori, you take him to the most exclusive restaurant in town, talk about high stake mergers which may affect the entire continent, and on your very first date, ask him to go away with you to Paris and you probably mentioned your apartment on one of the most expensive streets in one of the most expensive cities in all the world.”

            Dis got up to leave but Dwalin just sat there—what she said didn’t sound so good when she actually spelled it all out.

            “If he gives you another chance,” Dis said at the door. “Try not to overwhelm him—if you’re able to that is.”

            Dwalin felt like he had been hit with a brick. It took a few minutes but it all sank in and it wasn’t pretty.

            “God-damnit, fucking, shit, mother—” Okay, alright he fucked up. “Carolyn!” He was going to need assistance.

            “Is now a good time?’ Carolyn quipped as she came and stood in the doorway.

            Dwalin just rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was mad, I fucked up earlier.”

            “Yes, I know.” Carolyn had a smirk on her face as she took a seat.

            “How do you know?” Was every woman in the office reading him like a book or something.

            “Mister Fundinson,” Carolyn said as if she were talking to a three year old. “I have worked here for ten years, the last seven with you. I think I know when you storm in here what the story is.”

            _Damnit, why does she have to be so good?!_ “Look,” Dwalin started. “I need to regroup.”

            “What’s the plan, boss?” Carolyn already had out her steno pad and was ready for instructions.

            “First off, I need the name of good take-out place,” Dwalin thought that maybe he should just skip indoors dining for now. “Second, I need to get new clothes—not expensive, but just average clothes, jeans, jumpers and the lot,” Dwalin thought for a minute before one last thing. “And I want to see today’s used car listings.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bilbo was placing the casserole in the oven when he heard Ori’s keys jingle as he came through the door.

            "Hey there!" Bilbo called out, his back to the front door.

            No greeting, but he heard the front door close — no _bang_ would be a better term.

            “Ori?”

            Again, no answer.

            “Ori,” Bilbo came out of the kitchen just as Ori finished hanging up his coat. “Are you okay?”

            Still no response.

            “Ori!”

            The ginger-haired man jerked, and spun around. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

            “That much is clear,” Bilbo could see the tired eyes that seemed distance and obviously distracted. “What happened?” Because something must have.

            “Ah ... nothing,” Ori lied, blinking rapidly. “I’m just really tired ... I think I’ll shower and head to bed.”

            _It’s only_ _six o’clock_ _?!_   “Well, dinner’s going to be ready in about 30 minutes,” Bilbo offered.

            “I’m not really hungry,” Ori gave Bilbo a half-hearted smile and made to leave for his room but Bilbo placed a hand on his arm and stopped him.

            “What happened?” Bilbo wasn’t going to just let him leave.

            “Nothing. Really.”

            “Bullshit.”

            “Bilbo, honestly—”

            “Ori, I’ve known you since we were ten years old, don’t tell me nothing and think I’m not reading the lie all over your face.”

            Bilbo expected it to take some time; this was normal behavior for Ori—he was clearly upset and if Bilbo just waited, his friend would open up. Bilbo expected Ori to tell him the truth, because they didn’t keep secrets from each other—well, that wasn’t totally true, Bilbo had a secret but he just couldn’t share _him_ with anyone.  What Bilbo didn’t expect was for Ori’s chin to give a slight quiver—Ori just didn’t cry at the drop of a hat—nor for his eyes to turn watery.

            “Just ...” Ori’s voice cracked. “Please ... I don’t ... I can’t talk about it.”

            Bilbo also never expected to be left standing there as his best friend rushed into his room, slamming the door and effectively shut Bilbo out.

            It was several seconds before Bilbo got a hold of himself. He back to the kitchen, threw the casserole in the oven, turned the temp down a bit, removed his apron and went straight to Ori’s bedroom door. He didn’t hear crying but that didn’t mean that Ori wasn’t doing it. He wondered vaguely if he should knock but, no, he knew he didn’t need to. He opened the door as silently as possible and saw Ori laying on his bed, back to the door. Bilbo sat on the bed and leaned a bit to reach out and lay a hand on Ori’s shoulder.

            “Ori,” Bilbo said softly.

            No response except a sniffle.

            “Sweetie, please talk to me.”

            Ori sniffled again then took a breath in. Slowly, he made to sit up and moved so that he could sit on the edge of the bed next to Bilbo.

            Bilbo reached over and began to rub gentle circles over Ori’s back; he knew it would calm him. Of course, he also hoped it would help his friend open up, but Ori remained silent.

            It was at that moment that Bilbo noticed the drawings hanging above the drafting table. There were four of them, each was the same broad, bearded man but each was a different pose or outfit; a man in a business suit, a policeman, a medieval knight and one of a bare-chested warrior with an axe in each hand and sporting a Mohawk. Any other time Bilbo might’ve taken the Mickey out of Ori for them, but not now. And Bilbo certainly didn’t have to wonder if the pictures were of Ori’s rainy day hero.

            “Ori, does this have to do with that guy you met yesterday?”

            Ori continued to just look at his folded hands resting in his lap. He didn’t say anything but finally, he gave Bilbo a slight nod.

            Bilbo took a breath. “Did you see him?”

            Another nod, but still no words.

            “Did he say anything to you?”

            No response.

            “Did he say something to hurt you?”

            “No,” Ori said a bit brokenly. “Nothing like that.”

            Bilbo waited but nothing more came.  Bilbo felt like he was playing twenty questions with someone who spoke a foreign language.

            Bilbo was starting to feel a bit desperate. “Ori ... sweetie, just _tell me_ what happened.”

            It took a minute but Ori, finally, took a deep breath and spoke. “He found my badge yesterday after I left his work. He brought it to me this morning.” Ori took another breath and turned to look at Bilbo directly. “We went for lunch and I thought it was going to be so great, but ...”

            “But ...”

            “I’ve just never gone on a date with a guy that wore a suit worth five-thousand pounds, or rode in a car that cost more than I will make in twenty years, or had lunch at a place where a bottle of wine cost the same as my share of the monthly rent.”

            Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say. He had only come close to something like that once—just once, and look where he got him. Heartache, pain, and scars he will never not have. All that glittered was indeed, not gold.

            “He’s a totally different class,” Ori said, dejected.

            Bilbo took a breath himself before answering. “You know,” Bilbo stated quietly. “It’s every little girl and gay boy’s dream that if we scrub enough floors and make enough wishes, we too will be allowed to go to the ball and dance with the prince and live happily-ever-after.

            “But the truth is, at midnight the carriage and horses just turn back in to a pumpkin and mice, there are no glass slippers and no fancy dress. And that prince just ends up choosing a lovely princess or other handsome prince with a bigger castle and larger bank account and we go back to scrubbing the floors.”

            Ori just groaned a bit. “Bilbo, you’re not really helping.”

            Bilbo huffed a little sigh. “Probably not,” he conceded that argument. “Do I take it you won’t be seeing him again?”

            “No point. He’s too far above me.”

            “Well, that’s my point—I think it’s best you ended it now. It will only hurt later.”

            Ori only nodded.

            “Look,” Bilbo stated. “Go take a shower, come eat, then if you want to go to bed, I won’t stop you. But don’t go to bed hungry.”

            Ori snickered. “Don’t go to bed hungry. Is that your motherly advice?”

            “They do say it’s not good to go to bed mad.”

            Ori was confused. “How does that apply here?”

            Bilbo shrugged. “Believe, me—no one wants their stomach to be mad at them.”

            Ori couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good and that was clearly what Bilbo had been aiming for.

            As Bilbo stood to go, Ori grabbed one of his hands. “Thank you.”

            Bilbo squeezed it back. “I know it hurts now. But believe me; it will only hurt worse the deeper you get into it.”

            Ori nodded in agreement and released Bilbo’s hand while Bilbo returned to the kitchen.

            _It’s better he finds out now,_ Bilbo thought. _There is nothing worse than to have the golden ring in your hand, to think that you have everything before you and your whole future is full of love and promises. Only to find out it was nothing more than a dream—a beautiful dream, but still nothing but a dream._ Bilbo didn’t want to be bitter, he didn’t. And he didn’t want to lay blame; it was just the way of life. But he couldn’t stop himself of thinking of his own, lost prince, whose name he still could not say out loud.   _I_ _only wish I could have been enough._

 

 

**_DWALIN'S CAR - MERCEDES McLAREN CONVERTIBLE_ **

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KAT - Kat is based on Kat Denning, who played Darcy in Thor and Thor 2


	4. WEDNESDAY - Once More with Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori comes to a startling realization and Thorin must travel down the path of dark memories - little knowing that someone else is traveling the same road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** WARNING ***
> 
> THIS CHAPTER REFERS TO THE TERRORIST ATTACKS OF 9/11 AND 7/7!!
> 
> PLEASE NOTE, THAT WE, THE AUTHORS, DO NOT TAKE THESE EVENTS LIGHTLY AND MEAN ABSOLUTELY NO DISRESPECT TO THOSE WHO DIED OR THOSE WHO WENT ON TO FIGHT THE ONES RESPONSIBLE.

* * *

 

            Dr Gandalf Grey was puzzled. He hadn’t had a patient like Thorin Durin in some time. Oh, sure, he had dealt with PTSD before. He had seen cases that had been resolved and some that never reached an end. But there was something about this case that just didn’t make sense. There was something … missing. A piece he hadn’t quite got his hands on.

            It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. It was that Durin was incredibly—resistant; the man barely wanted to acknowledge that he had a problem, let alone open up and explore the reasons or basis for it. He was one of those patients that believed a couple of sessions and a few pills would be the end of it. But sadly, Grey couldn’t see the end—not when he was working in the dark.

            It had all started, frankly, four months prior—long before he met the man. He had gone to one of those infernal fundraising parties at the local hospital. He knew it was important and he totally supported the hospital but these things were beyond him. He didn’t enjoy making banal small talk with rich ladies who only wanted him to thank them for their money and time, and rarely seemed to actually care about the patients.

            He was just about to leave when he was waylaid by the most intriguing person he had ever met. She was tall and attractive; her short dark hair spoke of someone fashionable but no-nonsense. She had piercing blue eyes that literally stopped him in his tracks. And when she spoke, it was a voice that commanded attention and respect. Many would have been intimidated by such a woman, but somehow, this young woman presented herself with a grace and dignity that seemed to put one at ease—while rest of her presence put one under her spell.

            She introduced herself as Dis Durin. She’d had an issue and wanted—no, _insisted_ , on speaking with him. She had a brother, ex-military, who had become progressively more irate, controlling, and angry since returning home some two and half years prior. She’d believed it was PTSD, and wondered how she could get him into the office and could Grey help her?

            Grey decided to add _forthright_ to the woman’s list of personality traits.

            Sadly, he’d had to give the standard response—there was no way to get the man into his office, unless the man himself wanted to be there. No amount of dragging on anyone’s part would get the man there and it would more than likely worsen the problem. She was undeterred and simply asked if, she could get her brother to come, would Grey take him on?

            The answer would have been _yes_ , even if Grey hadn’t met her. But after meeting this determined woman, he knew he wouldn’t turn the case away. If the brother was anything like her—it would be a challenge. And Grey liked nothing more than a good challenge.

            It had taken her months to finally convince the man to come in, but in he came. And challenge didn’t do justice to his case, or to the man. He was more intimidating than his sister. He barely admitted he had an issue of any kind—beyond ‘bad dreams’ he’d said. He was easily provoked and his anger seemed to explode out of him for little reason. It seemed almost classic PTSD, but even then, Grey knew there was _something_. . . . something else.

            And some things didn’t add up. His military records were flawless until the battle that almost sent him home in a box. By all accounts he was a model officer, a ‘good man,’ someone willing to lay down on the wire or even sacrifice himself for the greater good. He had been in other battles before—some even worse that the last one, and yet, none of them had had the same effect. By all accounts he had a loving and supportive family—at least he did in his sister—and apparently a cousin that he was very close to.

            No, there was something deeper ... maybe even darker, if it could be imagined—that was at the heart of the matter.  And, regardless of the metaphor, Grey knew it would take some digging.

            He was roused out of his musing by a knock at his office door.

            “Come in,” Grey called out gently.

            “Am I disturbing you?” Dr Riven said, as he opened the door.

            “Not at all, Elrond,” Grey said with a smile. “Have a seat.”

            Riven took a chair, usually used by a patient or a family member. “You have that look on your face, my friend,” he said with a sly smile.

            “And what look would that be?” Grey countered with a raised eyebrow.

            “Pensive. You have a problem.”

            Grey sighed loudly. “Not a problem, but a puzzle.” Riven sat still but was all attention. He didn’t need to ask Grey to continue. “It’s this new client, Thorin Durin.”

            “Oh, yes. One of the kings of the ‘Square Mile.’”

            Grey chuckled at the description. “It’s his case of PTSD.”       

            “You think he’s faking it?”

            Grey shook his head empathically. “He had me on the phone two nights ago in the middle of a panic attack and if he was faking it, he deserves a BAFTA.” Grey smiled but didn’t laugh. “But I am not totally convinced it’s just PTSD either.” Grey scratched an ear absentmindedly. “No, there is something else there ... something just out of reach.”

            “So he’s hiding something.”

            “Probably ... but not on purpose. I have a feeling it’s hiding in plain sight, but even _he_ hasn’t made the connection.”

            Riven leaned back and hummed. “Interesting. How do you plan on getting him to talk about it?”

            “I have no idea.” Grey said with shrug. “With him, it will be a matter of getting him to admit it’s there, and then getting him to see the connection, and _then_ getting him to agree to work on it.”

            “So he’s stubborn?”

            “That, my friend, is an understatement.” Grey huffed out a laugh.

            “When do you see him next?”

            “This afternoon.”

            Riven shook his head. “I don’t envy you, my friend.” He stood up. “Let me know if you need anything from me.” As he made his way out he stopped at the door and turned. “And don’t feel bad; if he simply doesn’t want help, maybe we should encourage him to look for assistance elsewhere. You can’t cure everyone, Gandalf.” With that Riven left, closing the door to Grey’s office.

            _No, I_ can’t _cure everyone,_ Grey admitted silently. _But that doesn’t mean I can’t bloody well try._

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Ori was distracted all morning. It wasn’t like he couldn’t work or didn’t get work done, it was more that his mind was on autopilot and things got done without him even realizing. But no matter what he looked at, he saw something else; some _one_ else. Several times he was caught lost in his thoughts and someone had to either call his name loudly or tap him on the shoulder.

            After having several question repeated to him and observing his eyes glaze over one too many times, Kat had enough.

            “Did you know the building’s on fire?” Kat said conversationally as she leaned over Ori’s shoulder to look at the layouts he was working on. When Ori didn’t respond she tried again. “I think we may have to use Juan as a fire-shield.”

            Ori nodded and said flatly, “That sounds like a great idea.”

            Kat rolled her eyes. “You aren’t listening ... _again!”_ Kat pointed out, none to gently.

“What?” Ori said with wide eyes and a shake of his head. “What did you say?

            _Men, why must they make life so complicated,_ Kat mused. _They either needed to babied, fucked or spanked, sometimes all three—if Ori is any indication._ Kat rapped her knuckles on his forehead like knocking on a door. “Kirk to Enterprise; come in Enterprise _,”_ Kat snarked. “What planet are you on today?”

            Ori just deflated, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

            Kat threw an arm around Ori’s shoulders. “Does this have anything to do with that tasty side of beef on two legs you went to lunch with yesterday?” Kat smiled when Ori sighed.

            “His name is Dwalin Fundinson,” Ori said, sounding defeated, “and it ... might have.”

            Kat leaned in and whispered conspiratorially in Ori’s ear. “What’s the problem, sweetie-darling?”

            “I just ...,” Ori stated but stalled. “I mean ... well, it’s like ... I don’t know, he’s—”

            “What? He doesn’t like the fact you can’t form whole sentences?”

            Ori huffed out a sigh. “He’s rich and handsome and intelligent but—”

            Kat cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, there’s shouldn’t be a ‘but’ with anything you just said.”

            “I don’t have much to offer him.”

            “You have yourself.”

            “Like I said, I don’t have much to offer him.”

            “That’s a bit arrogant and snobbish on your part, don’t you think?”

            Ori just looked incredulous at her. “He is rich! I mean, like beyond rich ... his car is worth more than my life insurance payout; literally. What could he want from me?”

            “Yeah,” Kat said, holding up a hand. “Let me stop you right there.” She gave Ori a shut-up-you-idiot look. “Because, if he looked at me, like he looked at you ... I would still have my legs wrapped over his shoulder this morning.”

            Ori was almost— _almost,_ shocked. “Kat! We didn’t do anything like that!”

            Kat shrugged. “Maybe _that’s_ the problem.”

            “No,” Ori shook his head. “I just don’t ... he couldn’t possibly want me.”

            “That should be his decision,” Kat said in all seriousness. “Ori, I see this all the time with gay men; they see someone, they take one look at him, make all these assumptions about him and then walk away before ever finding out if those assumptions are true. And nine times out of ten, they’re not.”

            Ori could only sit there and watch Kat turn and go.

            _Oh my god._ He had done that very thing. He listened to Dwalin and made the assumption based on— _based on what?_

_On Fear._

Of course—he made them based on what fears Dori had planted in his head for years, and what Bilbo told him over and over— _Men only want on thing Ori, once they have it, they will move on. The rich are just a different animal, they have a different set of rules—rules that don’t include the likes of us._

He had to face it—he had messed up. He had walked away; he was the one that let it go.

            _Shit!_ Ori grabbed his bag and took off. If he was lucky, he’d able to make to Dwalin’s office in time for lunch and beg for another chance. He rehearsed apologies over and over in his head; he tried to plan for each outcome—either Dwalin forgave him or laughed at him for his audacity.

            He walked out of his building and bullied his way past the throng of people coming and going. He ran his hands through his hair and started brushing off any specks on his clothes. He was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice.

            “In the mood for something tasty?” Dwalin said smoothly.

            Ori could only gawp! Dwalin was dressed in dark jeans, a brown field jacket with a dark green crew-neck sweater underneath—that perfectly matched his eyes in Ori’s opinion—and a pair of Alden Bluchers boots. But even more amazing was that the man was casually leaning back on the fender of a beat-up red and white Range Rover Series III.

            After several long beats, Ori couldn’t hold back any longer and burst into laughter. Dwalin didn’t seem to mind and simply returned Ori’s laughter with a wide, shit-eating grin.

            “Is there something amusing, Mister Ryson?” Dwalin asked, coming to stand in front of Ori, and putting his hands in his pockets.

            “What’s all this?” Ori said, his toothy grin impossible to suppress.

            “What do you mean?” Dwalin said with mock ignorance.

            _Cheeky bugger,_ Ori thought. But there was no denying that even in jeans and a green jumper Dwalin looked good, _very good_. “Are you going to go milk the cows?”

            “I wouldn’t mind milking something,” Dwalin smirked. “But it’s no cow.”

            Ori suddenly had an image of himself and Dwalin, in the country, a sudden rain storm and a very dry, isolated, lonely barn and--when he got home tonight there might be a fifth picture on his wall.

            “What’s the deal with the Rover?” Ori said looking at the behemoth that stood out like an Albatross among swans; Ori kind of liked it.

            Dwalin laughed. “I thought you might have an easier time getting in to this than the Benz.” It was a snarky comment and not one lost on Ori.

            “It’s certainly in the realm of normal people,” Ori said. It was suppose to be funny but instantly Dwalin’s expression fell and Ori felt his stomach drop—he hadn’t meant it like that.

            Dwalin’s earnest look in his eyes made Ori’s heart ache.

            “I scared you yesterday, didn’t I?” Dwalin asked softly.

            Ori took a breath in and suddenly felt so ashamed of his behavior. “Oh, Dwalin, I’m so sorry! I never should’ve—”

            “I did.  Didn’t I?” Dwalin pressed quietly as he brought his hands up to lightly grip Ori’s shoulders. Ori just couldn’t say it out loud, but Dwalin must have seen it in his eyes. “That was never my intention. I was only trying to impress you and I offended you instead.”

            “No!” Ori said, horrified. “You didn’t offend me! I was overwhelmed and I just ... I mean ... I was foolish, and I acted like an idiot! I should be the one to apologize. I should—”

            Ori was silenced as Dwalin captured his lips with his own and Ori could do nothing but melt into the kiss. Eventually, Dwalin pulled back and Ori opened his eyes to what seemed a whole new world.

            “What do you say,” Dwalin whispered, “We start again. Give me another chance?  Please?”

            Ori really didn’t need to be asked. “I’d like that. A lot.”

            “How about, we grab some food,” Dwalin said gently, leading Ori over to the Range Rover and opening the door. “Go sit in Hyde Park and you can tell me all about you.”

            Ori grinned like a schoolboy as he answered. “Okay, but … I think there are more interesting things to talk about than me.” He giggled as he got into the passenger seat.

            Dwalin’s earnest expression returned. “I don’t think so.” He kissed Ori again before closing the door and walking to the driver’s side.

            Ori had to take a couple of deep breaths, because he knew—just _knew_ he was falling for this man, _His_ Dwalin. He just hoped that Dwalin couldn’t read his mind.

            Of course, what Ori couldn’t know was that at the same moment, Dwalin was thinking the exact same thing.

 

_**DWALIN'S RANGER ROVER SERIES III** _

 

            They swung by a small deli near the park, got sandwiches with chips—which thrilled Ori to no end, and a couple of Cokes. Dwalin offered to get ales but Ori declined because of work, so Dwalin went along with Ori.

            They sat by The Serpentine and just talked. It was relaxing and Ori felt all the unease from the day before just evaporate. In the cold light of reflection, Ori realized that he should have spoken to Dwalin openly and not just run off.

            _Point taken,_ Ori mused.

            Ori spoke of his upbringing near Brighton. His mother’s death when he was ten, being raised by his older brothers. He spoke of his love of art and the simple, near hypnotic nature of putting ink to paper and having an image blossom under his hand. What really touched Ori the most was that Dwalin never laughed and seemed truly interested in him and his life.

            “Now, you say you were raised by your older brothers?” Dwalin asked, helping himself to some of Ori’s chips.

            “I had two,” Ori said with a nod but he looked away for a minute before turning back.

            “ _Had?”_ Dwalin asked.

            “I lost one,” Ori replied quietly.

            Dwalin swallowed. “I’m sorry,” and Dwalin was. “I didn’t mean to—”

            “It’s okay,” Ori give him a sad but sweet smile. “You didn’t know and it was eight years ago now.”

            “Time doesn’t make it any easier.  Does it?”

            Ori’s eyes got a little glassy and he only shook his head. Dwalin moved over and wrapped an arm around Ori’s shoulders. They stayed like that for several long minutes and Ori was touched by Dwalin’s comfort and compassion.

            “Do you have siblings?” Ori asked, trying to get back to normal. “You mentioned a brother yesterday, wasn’t it?”

            “Balin,” Dwalin stated. “He’s older by twelve years.”

            “Mine were eight and fourteen years older.”

            “Fourteen? Wow, and I thought twelve was a big gap.”

            “I was a bit, unplanned.”

            “But not unwanted, I’m sure,” Dwalin said softly.

            Ori couldn’t help but smile at that.

            “What’s your brother’s name?” Dwalin finally asked, clearly trying to move Ori away from his lose.

            “Dori,” Ori supplied. “He’s the oldest one. He retired early from teaching and now has a Bed and Breakfast in Brighton.”

            “Kind of a leap,” Dwalin stated with a chuckle.

            “Oh, no,” Ori said, as he laid his head on Dwalin’s shoulder. “If you knew him, wouldn’t be surprising at all. He always said he would open a tea shop or a B and B when he was done teaching.”

            “What did he teach?”

            “Humanities of the Ancient World—at Brighton.”

            “I was rubbish at the arts. But I was good with history.”

            “You should meet Bilbo then.”

            “Bilbo? Who’s that?” Dwalin asked, obviously trying to sound casual but failing as far as Ori was concerned.

            “My best-friend and roommate.”

            “Is this a roommate/roommate or a roommate/ex-boyfriend who you can’t get to move out and live in your past?”

            Ori giggled. “Are you jealous, Mister Fundinson?” He raised head and looked at Dwalin.

            “Let’s just say,” Dwalin answered, as he racked his brain for the right words. “I might be—particularly interested in the dynamics of your living arrangement.”

            Ori laughed at that one. “Is that a yes?”

            Silence, but Dwalin pressed his lips together like he feared they would open and answer the question on their own. Of course, Ori wasn’t fooled.

            Ori just leaned over and kissed Dwalin’s cheek. “You have nothing to worry about. Bilbo and I have been best friends since primary; we haven’t the slightest interest in each other—seeing how we both have similar taste in men. Although, why he dated, Nor—”

            Ori’s abrupt silence caught Dwalin’s attention as did his unfinished sentence.

            “Who did he date?”

            Ori swallowed and was silent for a minute because clearing his throat. “Nori.”

            “Your other brother,” Dwalin stated, having guessed the answer.

            Ori nodded.

            “How did you lose him?” Dwalin asked gently.

            Ori was quiet for a while, not sure how to answer. But in the end, he decided that Dwalin would, and should, know the truth evidently.

            “It was the—the Seven-seven attacks,” Ori whispered.

            There was a ringing, heaving silence before Dwalin spoke. “Oh, Ori—I’m so—”

            Dwalin didn’t finish as Ori was suddenly wrapped around his chest and buried his face in his shoulder. Dwalin held Ori close, cradling his head while Ori found the comfort there that he so desperately needed.

            Finally Ori pulled back and continued.

            “It was always so, morbidly ironic,” Ori said softly, if stuffy. “When he went into the military, Dori and I worried he would go off and be killed. But then he got assigned to the Ministry of Defense in London we were relieved thinking he would be safe. We never thought that death would come looking for him.”

            “Sadly,” Dwalin added grimly. “One can never really know when death comes. Look at all those poor souls on Nine-eleven.”

            “That’s what drove Nori into the military,” Ori said.

            “Me too,” Dwalin replied.

            “I didn’t realize you were in the military?”

            “Four years, two-thousand-and-two to six. So was Thorin, but he stayed in for a full eight.”

            “Thorin?”

            “That gruff arse that basically ran you out of the office on Monday,” Dwalin drawled with a smirk.

            “Oh,” Ori hummed. “Is he your boss?”

            “Not boss, per se,” Dwalin added. “He’s Junior Vice President. His father—my uncle—is president of the company, while my father and my Uncle Groin, are Senior V.P.’s.”

            “ _Groin?_ ” Ori wanted to make sure he heard that correctly.

            “Hey, hey,” Dwalin warned, teasingly. “It’s a family name—don’t make fun.”

            “You’re right,” Ori said, holding up a hand in surrender. “And I am not one to talk—my brothers and I sound like trio of cartoon characters!” They both laughed at that, who wouldn’t, before Ori went on. “So, Thorin—did he get his injury in the war?” Ori remembered the man’s cane and his limp.

            “Yeah,” Dwalin confirmed. “But then, he was injured beyond just physically.”

            “You mean like PTSD or something?” Ori asked.

            “Let’s just say,” Dwalin explained. “That the Thorin I knew and loved, never really came back.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Tell me about . . . Monday’s episode.”

            Thorin raised his eyes from the very slightly crooked yellow notepad on Dr. Grey’s desk to glare at the doctor. The first thing he’d noticed when he’d come in—after the good doctor, himself—was the objects on the man’s desk, which was, as always, littered with papers. Some covered margin to margin in what Thorin knew to be _Grey’s_ ornate cursive. Thorin wanted to shake his head— _How the fuck can the man be so brilliant and have such a mess of a desk? Would drive me up the fucking wall!_

            “What's to tell?” Thorin grunted tersely. “You were there for almost all of it.” His customarily baleful gaze ticked to Grey's kind, canny one. “I saw something that set me off; I let myself be overwhelmed.”

            “ _'Let yourself'_ be overwhelmed,'” Grey repeated after Thorin. An annoying habit he had, that made Thorin want to grit his teeth. “Speak more about that—about _letting yourself_ be overwhelmed, if you please.”

 _I don't, please, thank you,_ Thorin almost ground out. But then he remembered the entire point was to _talk_ to Dr. Grey about his _feelings_ —if only to get Dis off his back.

            And in the end, he had to admit, if only to himself, that he did prefer Grey's _probing_ to Dis' _prying_.

            Sighing, Thorin leaned back in his chair just a bit, then remembered himself again and assumed his usual ramrod-straight posture. Slouching was for teenagers, low-lives, and people without responsibilities. _Not_ for people like Thorin Durin. “Well. The news was on the telly … about the war . . . showing clips of . . . of shit being blown up and people shooting … and I . . .” he trailed off as his mouth went dry while simply remembering the clips, remembering his _responses_ to them. He remembered standing frozen, explosions went off and insurgents did battle against trained soldiers . . . just as they had three years ago, when everything went to Hell for Thorin in just a few blood-soaked minutes. . . .

            Thorin shook his head to clear it of anything but the bare facts. He did enough reliving of that battle when he was on his own. To do it around others would be . . . unthinkable.

            Thorin tried to empty his mind till the sudden tremor in his right arm—and when had _that_ started up again?—began, with Thorin's focused willpower, to slow. To _still_.

            All through this, Grey was watching him keenly, his blue eyes slightly narrowed, his lips gently pursed. Thorin eventually refocused on the doctor, caught him staring, and glared. “I'm not a goddamned sideshow.” He spat out. “Don't gawp at me.”

            “No, Thorin, you are _not_ a sideshow,” Grey agreed equanimously; sitting back in his chair and lacing his hands in his lap. His fingers were long and clever-looking. “However, I _am_ in a unique position to observe, and I take my job _very_ seriously. Now,” he continued in his mildly gruff way, “the images you saw on the news Monday night . . . how did they make you _feel_?”

            “How'd it make me _feel_?” Thorin leaned forward in his chair, only barely restraining himself from launching at Grey. “What kind of an idiot question is _that_? Were we _on_ the same phone call?”

            Thorin wore a gaze that even he knew was quite intimidating, but Grey was unmoved and returned it with an unwavering one of his own. “We were. But I would like to hear in your own words what you were feeling, what was going through your mind. Especially since you rang off before I could ask.”

            Thorin sighed, wondering if Grey was trying to lay some kind of guilt-trip on him about the completely natural response to the obvious end of a phone call: ringing off. But he decided that, for the moment, anyway, he thought Grey a bit above that sort of thing.             Grey might be old enough to be Thorin's father, but even just a month into their professional relationship—four visits so far, during which Thorin had only griped about work and the shortcomings of his coworkers, but nothing more personal than that—Thorin knew the man to be a decent enough sort—decent and not all condescending; _nothing_ like Thrain—not in the slightest.

            So, sighing again, Thorin resumed his ramrod posture and glanced out of Grey's picture window, into the rainy London day.

            “Panicked. Frightened,” he said finally. “Pathetic.” Thorin added quietly, feeling put out and embarrassed, which of course made him tetchy. “Is _that_ what you want to hear?”

            “It isn’t about what _I want_ , but what you can bear to tell me,” Grey said simply, kindly, and for a few seconds, Thorin aimed a grimace of a smile out the window.

            “Do you wish to know, then, what it's like to hear gunfire and see comrades die over and over in my dreams?

            “Shall I tell you about the young soldiers—the ones barely older than my brother Frerin when he killed himself? About the bloody _zeal_ with which they threw their fucking lives away?”

            Thorin paused, and unclenched his hands from around the armrests of the chair, which were beginning to creak.

            “Or maybe you wish to hear about the pain of injuries coupled with week after week of rehab? Months to struggle back from death to a world that has no clue what you’ve been through; a world where everyone thinks it’s just so fucking easy to go back to living a ‘normal life?’

            “Or perhaps I'll tell you about how, after all of that, after all the blood and pain and sacrifice, I was deserted—abandoned by a faithless, heartless liar who didn't even want to see me and didn't have the decency to dump me face to face?” Thorin absentmindedly touched the V-shaped scar on his face, before his hand ghosted over the shirt-covered scar on his chest that was far uglier in meaning.

            Thorin sat in silence for long minutes that remained unbroken by either himself or Grey. He watched as a pigeon landed on the ledge and looked in the window at them, cocking its head at a curious angle. Thorin resisted the strong urge to grab one of the knick-knacks on Grey's desk and chuck it at the pigeon, window notwithstanding.

            “Are those things you wish to know about, Dr. Grey?” Thorin finally said softly when the pigeon finally flapped off into the wet afternoon. “Because I can tell you.”

            “I wouldn't say I _wish_ to know, Thorin. But if you will tell me about them, I _will_ listen,” he added lowly. And Thorin returned his gaze to the good doctor, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. Grey was watching him with a disturbed frown on his face. “I will listen to whatever you need to say. And do not fear offending or confounding me, because I can assure you: you will not.”

            “I’ll take that as a challenge,” Thorin said, smirking, and Grey laughed, now.

            “I thought you might.” He hummed and laughed again. “So, where would you like to begin?”

            Though Thorin was poised to say something sarcastic and snarky, he actually found himself considering Grey's question seriously. “I suppose you'll want to know about my childhood and my parents? Isn’t that where all the shrinks want to start?”

            “We can start there, if you like,” Grey had barely finished saying before Thorin grunted again and spat:

            “My father, Thrain, was a domineering arsehole and my mother, Fris, was a trophy wife who never stood up to him. Not even when it came to protecting her own children from him. Not even when Thrain pushed my brother, Frerin over the edge.

            “She didn’t once open her mouth when I came out and Thrain started throwing words like _fags_ and _queers_ or _poofs_ into conversations just to belittle me. Nothing, while he told me I was wrong or stupidly confused or just going through a phase—like I was fucking eight years old or something. She never called him on it when he told me that it was all in my head and I should just fuck some girl and be “normal.” Never once disagreed—for all I know she _did_ agree with him.” Thorin fell silent again for a minute, brooding over Thrain’s insulting words and condescension of him . . . and of his brother. And how Frerin, at least—sensitive, kind, loving _Frerin_ —could've done with a mum more like their sister, Dis.

            “And,” Grey asked thoughtfully, “do you believe she didn’t stand up to your father because she _wouldn't_ , or _couldn't_?”

            “Does it matter?” he asked with an almost offended shrug. “The result was the same.” _Belittled, insulted and mocked by my own father, and Frerin— sweet, funny Frerin, dead and gone before he had a chance to even_ live. . . .

            Grey frowned. “I find that intentions matter greatly, Thorin.”

            “Oh, sure, they can.” Thorin smirked sardonically. “I've heard the road to Hell is paved with the good ones,” Thorin intoned with a viciously placid sort of dryness, and this occasioned an equally dry, but not remotely vicious smile from Grey.

            “Yes, but there's a great difference between whether or not _you believe_ your mother could have protected you and _chose_ not to, or felt she _couldn't_ protect you at all, and so was afraid to _try_.”

            Thorin doesn’t know what to say with those too-canny blue eyes are searching his face intently, without subterfuge. “And bear in mind, Thorin, many view their parents the way they did as a child . . . as all-powerful and all-knowing; as a result their actions would seem to be on purpose, whether wise or unwise.”

            Thorin looked back out the window for a minute; lost in the thoughts that Grey had stirred up. “I still don’t see what fucking difference it makes?” Thorin said quietly looking down at his hands and avoiding Grey’s gaze.

            Grey sighed. “It can be easier to forgive a lack of efficacy and knowledge, rather than a lack of caring and a sense of apathy, when it comes to a parent’s mistakes.”

            “I don't see why I should forgive either way,” Thorin was quick to say, and Grey's grey eyebrows lifted gently.

            “Forgiveness is the first step on the road to healing.”

            “More like the first step on the road to being used again.” Thorin snorted once more, thinking of the one person who'd promised so much more, who promised forever, but then had broken that promise at the first hint of a challenge. Though even Thorin could admit that the challenges his own injuries would have presented were above and beyond the call of the average person to deal with.

_But someone who promised forever should be above and beyond the average person . . . shouldn't they? I thought ‘he’ was anyway._

            A bolt of dulled agony that was purely figurative ripped through Thorin's heart as he remembered how it'd felt to be so _certain_ of someone—in a way he'd never been before—to look into someone's eyes and _know_ that when forever was promised, it wasn't being merely bandied about for the sake of the moment.

            He also remembered what it was like to find out just how wrong and misplaced that certainty had been, and—his lip curling into a sneer. He meets Grey's concerned gaze. “I don't do forgiveness.”

            “Not even of yourself?” That gentle upward drift of Grey's brows alongside that question caused Thorin's scowl and sneer to droop into a look of almost desperate confusion. One that he didn't even realize he was wearing. Grey searched his face then went on. “Because we will almost always find it impossible to forgive others until we first forgive _ourselves_. Just as we will almost always find it impossible to _love_ others until we first love ourselves.”

            Thorin's mouth worked for several seconds before anything came out. “I—I don't see that I've done anything that needs _fucking_ forgiving.”

            “Hmm,” was Grey's reply to that. “Tell me about this person you spoke of—the one you say abandoned you after you were injured.”

            “What’s there to tell?” Thorin's face twisted into another grimace that finally settled into grim, unhappy lines of weariness. “I met a bloke, fell in love—or thought I had—and thought he felt the same. He promised that we'd be together after I got out of the army. Have the house, the dog—maybe even the kid. But it didn't quite work out that way, in the end. Not at all, in fact.” Thorin looked away from Grey's keen blue eyes. “And the bitch of it is,” Thorin’s voice rose a bit with his building anger. “He never _saw_ me after I came home; didn't even have the guts to come see me in hospital.

            “Didn't have the _bloody_ nerve to tell me to _my face_ I was too much of a . . . a _cripple_ for him to love anymore. He didn't even give himself the chance to find out if _this_ ,” Thorin gestured at himself absently, “was something he could still love. He wrote my bloody _father_ that he was dumping me—which of course made Thrain happy as a pig in shit.” He laughed: a harsh, pained grunt low in his throat.

            “Thrain was practically _grinning_ as he told me that the person I loved and fought my way back from death for had abandoned me.” Thorin's next grunt of a laugh was bitter and rueful. “Dear old dad— arsehole that he is, but it wasn’t his fault in the end. I know _exactly_ who's fault it is. I know where to place the blame. I know whom to hate.”

            As Thorin spoke of his hatred, he missed the look of dawning realization on Grey’s face, so deep was he in his own misery. His own remembrance of what he’d had . . . and what he’d _lost_ : a love so deep and consuming, that once betrayed, it’s warm fire turned to cold hatred.

            Grey _hmm_ ed, but said nothing, choosing instead to wait on Thorin’s next words. The wait wasn’t long.

           “So no, Dr. Grey. I _don't_ believe in forgiveness.” Thorin's expression hardened and now he met Grey's gaze squarely, levelly. “Some people aren't to be forgiven. Some people _deserve_ to be hated. Especially if they promised a love that was to be _forever_ and reneged the moment the going got tough.”

            And indeed, that hatred welled up, filling Thorin as wind fills a sail, giving him a weary, but wired sort of strength that allowed him to go on, even though a large part of him felt as if it wanted to just lie down and die. Because here was proof-positive that so-called _'good intentions'_ meant nothing except so many paving stones on the road to the Hell in which Thorin was currently living. The Hell that, for all its horrors and hurt, was still better than living without _him_ completely. . .

           “It is entirely possible that it wasn't lack of love that motivated your young man, but fear,” Grey said suddenly, interrupting Thorin's once more brooding train of thought.          Thorin rolled his eyes at Grey's Pollyanna-ish naiveté. “Even if it was,” Thorin spat out, “that doesn't excuse his desertion!”

            Thorin sat back and took a sighed from the outburst. “I would have stuck by him through anything,” Thorin murmured softly, linking his own fingers in his lap. “Even if that beautiful face had been scarred beyond recognition.” _That beautiful face with the apple cheeks and bright smile. “_ Even if the body I had loved had been dealt the same misfortunes. I would have continued to love him.” Shaking his head, Thorin's smile was once more grim. “So, I suppose I'll just have to settle for _hating_ _him_ instead.”

            Grey sighed. “Many might consider that reaction extreme, Thorin—even under the circumstances.”

            “Is it?” Thorin barked out, a sneer on his face. “IS IT?! HE _BETRAYED_ ME!” He bellowed, his rage ripping through him. “HE BETRAYED THE LOVE I BESTOWED ON HIM! He took my heart, and all the promises—everything—and threw them back in my face!” It was a minute or so before Thorin reined it back in and continued. “He betrayed me.”

            _And it nearly destroyed me,_ but Thorin could not say that out loud.

            “And will you _continue_ giving him the power over you?” Grey asked sternly—a change in demeanor so sudden and unexpected it stunned Thorin into silence. “Until you learn to forgive him, you will never truly move on.”

            “That was _years_ ago—I _have_ moved on!”

            “And yet you're still angry,” Grey countered. “Still filled with unresolved feelings, and a love-turned-hatred that keeps you connected—a connection you seem to _need_ , if not outright _crave_. Because it’s the only thing you have left of him.”

            For that was it, then: the one thing clearly hidden in plain sight that Dr. Grey had obviously been searching for; the one piece that seemed to underpin the other pieces for him.

            “And from what you’ve been telling me and what I can observe, it’s feeding into the trauma you suffered, which in turn is warping your relationship with your family, friends, and colleagues.” Grey leaned forward, his eyes piercing as they pinned Thorin in his chair. “For that's part of the reason you're here, is it not? That and the trauma you suffered during the war, and the PTSD that may have resulted from it?

            “PTSD?” Thorin blinked and—despite his open-mouthed shock at Grey’s revelation about his hatred—chose to address the other revelation, instead. “I don't—I don’t have _PTSD_!”

            Those grey brows quirked up again, sharply, and Thorin expected Grey to pursue what he’d implied about Thorin’s hatred and his need for connection. But he didn’t, for which Thorin was both relieved and embarrassingly grateful. “And what, exactly, do _you_ think you have? What do _you_ think is causing these attacks and episodes of extreme panic and anxiety?”

            “I—” Thorin's mouth worked once more, but this time, nothing came out as Grey went on, kindly and empathetic again—another change in demeanor that shook Thorin, and drove his about to be reiterated denials back down his throat.

            “If not PTSD, _something_ is causing a pattern of repeated and severe panic attacks that leave you shaken, miserable, and wrecked. And each one is a little worse than the last, is it not?”

            Helpless but to be honest, Thorin could only nod, grudgingly.

            “And they come more frequently than they used to, do they not?”

            Another grudging nod.

            “It is as I thought, then.” Grey sighed, unlacing his fingers to rub his left eyebrow—the closest to fidgeting Thorin suspected the doctor ever got. “I had not, however, taken into account this hatred you bear for your former lover, and that such a hatred might be the impetus for your … occasionally . . . shall we say intense attitude and behavior.”

            Stung, Thorin found himself grasping the armrests again, harder than ever. “Hang on, a moment, what do you mean by ‘ _intense attitude and behavior?’_ There’s nothing wrong with my attitude or behavior!”

            “Well, we could posit that question to your closest kin and friends, and see what _they_ have observed.”

            “As if they're any judges!” Thorin’s temper flared up, but his sudden doubt was quite visible on his face and in his manner. “They would equate my so-called intensity with focus, a strong work ethic, and an unwillingness to put up with lollygagging and gold-bricking!”

            “One can be all those things without alienating family and friends, Thorin. The question is, can _you_?” Grey asked wryly.

            “I—” Thinking of the fight with Dwalin on Monday . . . and of his need to patch things up the very next day—for he’d known, even as he and Dwalin fought, that he, himself, might be the one in the wrong—Thorin could not even finish his averral. The truth is, he _could_ be an arsehole, and he knew this about himself. But that didn’t mean he could _help_ himself. And he didn’t know if he’d _ever_ being able to stop pissing off and scaring away the people that he loves. And he’d giving up even trying, instead tendering grudging, but sincere apologies after the fact.

            Grey went on without waiting longer for Thorin's answer. “At any rate, I would now take back what I said about forgiving yourself first. _You_ need to forgive this man who broke your heart before you can forgive _yourself;_ before you can begin to repair the damaged relationships in your life. I can help you do this,” he offers gravely. “And as we work on that, we will also work on unraveling the wounded layers of your psyche to relieve the symptoms of your PTSD, for I believe that the two are quite connected, and feeding off each other, resulting in a life that is rather less than satisfactory for you.”

At first, Thorin was quite surprised by this speech—the longest Grey had ever said in his presence—but then its import penetrated the surprise, puzzlement, and yes, the rage that was always with him. And Thorin slumped in his chair with a heavy sigh.

            “You're twisting my words and making me sound like some out-of-control arsehole,” he whispered, shaking his head again. “That's not me.”

            “No, Thorin, it is _not_. And that is why I will help you recover the person you _truly_ are, and finally put to bed the rage and betrayal that festers in your heart. For I believe your heart is a _good_ _one_ , that does not truly mean _anyone_ malice or harm.”

            Frowning and wary, Thorin searched Grey's eyes and could not read anything in them other than kindness and determination.

            “Will you accept my help?” the doctor asked quietly.

            And though Thorin was tempted—sorely—to throw Grey's words and observations back in his face, he found himself nodding, looking back down to his hands in his lap.

            “Then we will begin with Monday night's attack and what you experienced during it,” Grey decided peremptorily, but still kindly. He took up the crookedly-placed yellow notepad and an old fashioned-looking fountain pen and settled his gaze firmly on Thorin once more. “How did this particular attack start? And be as descriptive as you can without unduly upsetting yourself.”

            Sighing again, Thorin shifted his gaze to back out the window with a semblance of calm. But his insides were roiling and in a state of uncomfortable flux. As if he'd puke then perhaps pass out. But he knew from experience he would do none of these things. Not while he was in Grey's office, anyway.

            When he got home, however, was another matter.

            “It starts as tremors in my right arm, sudden dry-mouth, and a feeling as if I'm . . . trapped. _Cornered_ . . . and yet, I'm . . . unable to fight. Unable to move or act . . . just wait for my doom to take me. . . .”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            By the time he returned to the office, Dwalin was feeling good! He and Ori had a lovely time— _Need to do that more often_ —and they had plans for lunch on Friday. Dwalin wanted lunch every day if he could get it, but Ori said that Thursday he had to stay in because of internal staff meetings for prepping for all-staff gatherings on Friday. Oh well, they would just have to have dinner instead—which Ori accepted.

            Dwalin was just stepping out of his private bathroom when there was a knock on his office door.

            “Come in,” Dwalin said, straightening his tie. He made a mental note to ask Ori for advice with his ties—it was clear his little One had taste.

            “Got a minute?” Thorin asked quietly.

            Dwalin turned to his cousin but kept his face neutral. Thorin seeking him out was rarely a good thing and him being calm was more than unnerving. “Sure,” Dwalin replied evenly, as he turned and sat at his desk.

            Thorin closed the door behind him and took a seat.

            “Look,” Thorin said, sitting ramrod straight. “I want—uhm—I want to apologize for Monday night.”

            Dwalin wasn’t sure if it was as joke or not, but figured it must be legit as Thorin hadn’t had a sense of humor for years at this point. “Okay,” Dwalin wasn’t saying no, but it was weird. “What set you off?”

            “I don’t know,” Thorin said, looking at his clasped hands. “Long day, didn’t really eat, tired—take your pick. It wasn’t any one thing, but it wasn’t—it wasn’t you.”

            Dwalin was amazed. No, he was shocked. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time Thorin apologized for one of his outbursts and even then the apology was usually a backhanded one; a _sorry, but._ This though, to seek Dwalin out, to apology and to not place blame; _Damn, either Dis ripped him a new one and it worked or that shrink is truly helping—or both._

            “Well, thank you,” Dwalin answered. “I appreciate that, and I accept your apology.”

            Thorin nodded slowly. “Well, I won’t keep you,” Thorin stood and turned to leave but Dwalin couldn’t let the opportunity pass by.

            “What’s going on with you?” Dwalin asked, stopping Thorin in his tracks.

            “Nothing,” Thorin stated just a tad sharp. “Why does anything have to be going on?”

            “Because I’ll tell you,” Dwalin stood, walked around the desk and sat on the edge to speak low and quietly to Thorin. “I miss the cousin who is like a brother to me, who was always my best friend. I miss you.”

            Thorin seemed to deflate to that and only looked away from Dwalin’s gaze. “There are some things you don’t want to know.”

            “Yes, I do,” Dwalin stated firmly. “Thorin, I want to know what happened to the man that so inspired me with his coming out, that I finally had the courage to do the same. The man who so humbled me with his conviction to fight for his country that I had to follow him into service. The man who I, literally, fought battles beside; who amazed me with his courage and bravery! That man who taught me that no matter how hard people try to push us down, we stand tall and proud and we do what is right! Damnit, Thorin! I miss the man you were!”

            Thorin only stood there, not moving, not answering. Dwalin was just beginning to nervous when Thorin finally spoke in a low and tired voice. “That man’s dead.”

            “No,” Dwalin said to Thorin’s lie. “No, he’s not dead. He’s hiding.” For a moment Dwalin was sure that would piss Thorin off and maybe—just maybe, spur him to continue on. But quite the opposite happened.

            Thorin slowly looked at Dwalin. “No, Dwalin. He’s dead. He died when he realized there was nothing left to come back for.”

            Dwalin stood there, stunned and almost hurt. For the first time, there was a look in Thorin’s eyes that spoke not of anger or indifference, but of pain and loss. Thorin looked lost.

            As Thorin reached for the door, he turned back over his shoulder. “One more little piece of advice,” Thorin said, with an empty hollow tone. “Careful with your new little fling. Because once he’s done with you, no amount of money or toys will help you.”

            With that, Thorin left and Dwalin was no longer feeling as good as he had.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            He threw his keys and phone on the counter and didn’t even bother to look in the fridge; he knew there was nothing there really. He automatically went for the drinks cabinet and poured himself some scotch and sat down on the black leather couch. Although he had an unobstructed view, he didn’t really see the glass wall or the magnificent view of the city it offered.

            As the warmth of the alcohol slowly took effect, Thorin could really only do one thing; think. His session with Grey had been exhausting in the end and his chat with Dwalin hadn’t gone as he had planned. But it needed to be done.

            He didn’t want to rain on Dwalin’s parade—he really didn’t. But he would be remiss if he didn’t warn him of the dangerous waters he was heading into. He had already heard from Dis and Balin how this new guy—whose name escaped him—was quickly working his way into Dwalin’s life. Every warning signal and light went off, screaming, in Thorin’s head. But there wasn’t much he could do in the end really.

            Those warnings hadn’t helped him, had they? No. He had walked in willing and completely. But then, who wouldn’t? It had all been so perfect, so right, so _destined_. Even now, if he had to admit it, even to just himself, would it do it again? Would he? Would he take that weekend and all that had been offered, even knowing that it would only be that weekend?  

            He didn’t know. Even knowing what he knew now and going back in time, he didn’t know. Because in the end, in the deepest, most hidden corner of his heart, he hated himself for knowing he would give his life for just one more time in the embrace of the only one he ever did, or ever could, truly love.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Bil!” Ori called the second the door was open. “Bil—are you home?”

            Ori couldn’t get this bag off his shoulder or his shoes off his feet fasting enough. He wanted out of these clothes and into something as comfortable and light as he felt! He was perfectly aware that he was being ridiculous and giddy and he just didn’t give a shit!

            “Bilbo!”

            “What?!” Bilbo said coming out of his room and Ori could now here the distance sound of swirling water. “Can’t a man take a slash without being interrupted?”

            “No,” Ori threw out with a smile and moving off into his bedroom. “You will never guess what happened!”

            “You finally decided on getting that sex-change operation?”

            “Fuck you five ways to Sunday,” Ori said while they both laughed. “No! Guess what happened at lunch today?”

            Bilbo almost really didn’t need to guess. “Mr. Fundinson charmed you into seeing him again.”

            Ori just peeked out of his room with a smirk on his face but clearly didn’t need to answer for Bilbo to know he had guessed correctly.

            “What did he do?” Bilbo asked as he moved to the kitchen to start on dinner. “Take you to McDonald’s?”

            “Ha, ha,” Ori replied, now that he was in cotton shorts and a tee. “But, you aren’t too far off.”

            Bilbo just turned his head with wide-eyes and a puzzled look. “You’re joking right? I mean, I was joking when I said that.”

           “Well,” Ori began as he snagged an unprotected carrot. “I had a chat with Kat today and she basically smacked me in the head and told me that I was the one jumping to conclusions and if I didn’t give him a chance, than I was a fool.”

            Ori could see it written all over Bilbo’s face that he thought Ori was foolish for _giving_ the chance but Bilbo didn’t say it out loud.

            “So, I was heading off to see him,” Ori continued as he munched the carrot. “And there he was, already waiting for me outside and he was dressed like a farmhand driving this beat-up Rover!” Ori laughed but then realized he was the only one doing so. “Don’t you think that’s hilarious?”

            “What?” Bilbo said, giving his best friend a cocked eyebrow. “To dress down and act like he is slumming?”

            “It wasn’t like that,” Ori huffed out. _God, Bilbo could be such a misery sometimes!_ “He told me he had only meant to impress me, not scare me and he asked for another chance. The clothes—which were new by the way, and he looked even hotter in than that suit—were just jeans and jumper; and the Rover was a joke, which I got, just so you know.”

            “He scares you by showing off all his money,” Bilbo countered. “And then tries to win you back by spending _more_ money?”

            “ _It wasn’t like that!_ ” Ori stated firmly again. “He just wanted me to see him as a person; he wanted me to see him, not his car, not his money, but just him.”

            “Oh he wants you to see him alright,” Bilbo said the sneer in his voice was clear, even if it wasn’t on his face. “He wants you to keep seeing him until he gets what he wants.”

            “And what is that, exactly?” Ori felt like he was reaching his end.

            “There’s only one thing he wants, Ori, and when he’s gotten it, he’ll move on.”

            “So, that’s it, then,” Ori stated. “I’m only good for a quick fuck.”

            “I never said that,” Bilbo shot out.

            “Sounded like it to me,” Ori fired back.

            “I just don’t understand—” but Bilbo never got further than that.

            “That’s right, you don’t understand!” Ori tipping point was met. “Just because you have chosen to give up, doesn’t mean that I have!”

            Bilbo only stared at Ori with a stunned expression on his face.

            “You know,” Ori said, continuing softly. “Dwalin and I talked about Nori today. For the first time, I felt like someone cared to listen—not just because of morbid curiosity or pity, but because they really cared about me. Because they knew what it meant to lose someone you loved.”

            Bilbo didn’t move and didn’t speak; Ori’s words echoing in his ears.

            _… what it meant to lose someone you loved …_

_… to lose someone you loved …_

_… someone you loved …_

            “But,” Ori continued on softly. “It dawned on me, life still should go on. Because life is about living, not dying—it’s about giving not grieving. Nori would never have wanted me to give up and stop living—and I know he wouldn’t have wanted that for you either.”

            Bilbo didn’t move for a long time but he slowly nodded. “You’re right, Ori,” Bilbo finally responded. “If Dwalin makes you happy, then I should just be happy for you.”

            Ori breathed out, he felt better. “You’re coming to the all-staff’s on Friday, right?” Ori confirmed, because he already knew that Bilbo was going.

            “Yes. We can ride in together if you want.”

            “Well,” Ori offered. “I was thinking more about you coming to lunch with us on Friday.”

            “Oh, no,” Bilbo insisted. “I shouldn’t intrude,”

            “Don’t be silly,” Ori said soothingly. “He knows about the all-staff, and he’s busy with this big merger, so Friday will be quick. You can at least meet him and hopefully that will put you more at ease.”

            “I don’t know, Ori,” Bilbo was clearly reluctant.

            “Please?” Ori was not above pleading. “I don’t want to fight anymore with you Bilbo, and I want you to know him. Please.”

            “Are you sure?” Bilbo seemed unconvinced.

            “It’ll be fine,” Ori urged. “He has already expressed an interest in meeting you.”

            Bilbo seemed to mull it over but then smiled. “Okay. Lunch on Friday.”

            “Great!” Ori was relieved. “You won’t regret it!”

            Bilbo smiled as Ori rushed off to his room.

            Dinner was quick and Bilbo listened to Ori as he gave more details of the day. Afterwards, when Ori had cleaned up the kitchen and they had had desert, Ori was off to his room and working at something at his draft table. Bilbo decided to read, so he retreated to his room for quiet.

            But his thoughts would not leave him alone.

            It was clear that Ori thought Nori was still the issue for Bilbo’s continued isolation. It would have been amusingly endearing to some, but Bilbo didn’t think it funny. He had loved Nori with all his heart and soul. He would have gladly spent the rest of his life with him, but fate had a much different plan for them. Bilbo had resigned himself to the fact that Nori was gone and he knew perfectly well that Nori wouldn’t have wanted him to give up living, even if it meant living on without him—hell, they had talked about that just days before that unimaginable July.

            However, Ori didn’t know about Thorin, and as far as Bilbo was concerned he never would. Not that he didn’t love Ori, or trust that Ori would understand or even that Ori would judge Bilbo for his decisions, but Bilbo hadn’t even told Thorin’s name to Andy, and he was Bilbo’s shrink for almost two years! It was just that Thorin was his and his alone and he would not share him with anyone—if he couldn’t have Thorin physically, he would guard Thorin’s memory like a dragon guarding his horde.

            No, Bilbo had made the choice to let Thorin go. _If you love something, set it free._ So he did. It wasn’t the wondrous thing the romance novels make it out to be—it was hard and bitter and someone always ended up hurt and lonely. Bilbo would gladly take that over hurting Thorin.

            As far as Bilbo was concerned, Thorin deserved to be happy and healthy and have everything that they had once dreamed of together; one of them, at least, should have that.

 

 

 


	5. THURSDAY - Troubles and Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the strongest have troubles and doubts.

* * *

 

            Dr Grey had an idea; it wasn’t really advised—most doctors would be outraged, and it certainly wasn’t going to be nice.

            Then again, so much of this case wasn’t nice.

            It had seemed so straightforward from Durin’s sister. Man goes to war, comes back a different person—broken almost; there was denial, anger, resentment, anxiety, nightmares, etc. Seemed almost a standard case of PTSD and so easy breezy; examine the case, peal back the layers, root out the problem or fear, fix the man, and then case solved—happy patient, happy family, end of fairy tale.

            Not quite.

            No, at their first meeting he knew this was no clear cut and dry case. The first four sessions were nothing more than Durin complaining about work and his co-workers. But Grey hadn’t needed a great long time to figure out that those Durin complained about were his family members—not anyone else at work.

            Interesting.

            But Grey also didn’t need much information to realize that there was something else, something more; something _missing._ He had even mentioned it to Elrond. He vaguely considered giving up on Durin; but he was glad in the end that he didn’t, because come the fifth session, Grey struck gold. Sadly, it was not the bright shiny gold, but more like black gold—oil; dark, opaque, and poisonous in its raw form.

            And while Grey finally felt he had most of the pieces, he had to wonder—could he put the puzzle together without the full picture? Well, that was the plan—he needed to widen his view and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

            A knock on his office door stopped his scribbling.

            “Come in,” Grey said, as he looked up lazily from his transcripts. He knew he should start using the computer but honestly, there was something about putting pen to paper that just made him feel more like a doctor.

            Dr Elrond Riven’s friendly face appeared moments after the door opened. “I hope I am not disturbing you?”

            “Not at all,” Gandalf said pleasantly and motioned to small coach in the room. “What brings you here this time of day?” Thursdays were the half days and usually, Elrond and his daughter, Arwen, the office’s licensed psychologist, took the afternoon for themselves. This meant that Thursday mornings Elrond would sequester himself in his office and do paperwork.

            “Arwen’s filling in as mediator for a group session at the hospital,” Elrond said as he took a seat on the leather couch and crossed his legs casually. “So our afternoon outing was cancelled. Therefore, I decided to indulge my curiosity and inquire how your appointment with Durin went.”

            “Productive.” Gandalf said, leaning back in his chair.

            “Ah ... found the Rosetta Stone to his hieroglyphics?”

            “Not quite,” Gandalf said. “More like finding out the Edgar Allan Poe short you’re reading has elements of a Greek Tragedy and a Shakespearean Sonnet.”

            “Strange but intriguing metaphor.”

            Grandalf scratched his chin as he put his thoughts together and he chuckled under his breath. “Imagine if you will,” Gandalf continued quietly. “A man goes to war and comes back broken, expecting the love of his life to be there. Only the lover abandons him.”

            “That would be a tragedy,” Elrond stated.

            “And not just abandons him, but never comes to see him.”

            “Is he sure of this lover’s intentions before going to war?”

            “According to Durin, the love was all consuming ... on both parts.”

            Elrond hummed but said no more.

            “Also, he has to contend with parents that not only do not support his orientation, but actively try and change him through insulting intimidation and neglect.”

            Elrond has no response to that beyond raised eyebrows and a slight gape.

            “Now, Durin, naturally, finds this hard to live with, considering all he endured.”

            “Naturally.”

            “But instead of moving on, his love seems to have turned to hatred ... a hatred so strong it feeds into this anxiety and fear of his last battle, which in turn fuels that hatred, both cycling the other, building and ticking away like a time bomb.”

            “That would explain the outbursts.”

            “And the ever increasing frequency.”

            “So, what’s your next step?”

            Gandalf sat back and took a deep breath. “Something that others may consider a bit unethical.”

           

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dis liked to get out of the office in the middle of the day. Every now and then, she might go to the gym and exercise. She might even meet a client and have a casual meeting with them, but that was rare; she didn’t enjoy mixing food with business—not good for ones digestion. Even rarer, was running errands at mid-day but that _never_ worked out well for anyone really; Dis with low-blood sugar was a Dis no one wanted to deal with, including herself. No, she usually took lunch at one of the local café’s or restaurants and most often she would meet Vili and the boys to have lunch with them.

            She knew that many didn’t like her home arrangement; stay-at-home husband and home-schooled children. She had rolled her eyes and refused to listen to the well-meaning, but clueless, naysayers and their ‘concerns.’ Some assumed she was overly controlling or Vili extremely weak, or both. Others thought them strange, modern hippies or freaky social isolationists for ‘squirreling away’ their children from school life.

            All these ideas only made Dis and Vili laugh harder, because the truth was so far from what others thought. The idea of Dis controlling Vili wasn’t even worth dignifying with a comment; nor the plebian idea that Vili was weak because he stayed home. And the reason for keeping the boys at home was actually brilliant, thank you very much!

            Dis had met Vili at one of those charity functions at the local hospital, for special needs children. Vili was being honored as the educator of the year for his efforts and Dis was captivated by the tall, burly, handsome blond—who she quickly found out was single! His warm brown eyes and easy, relax demeanor—so _not_ what she was used to with her family, literally stopped her in her tracks. Plus, in their first conversation, he matched her point for point, wit for wit—why he not only kept up with her sarcastic playfulness, he could _beat_ her at her own game! Vili was used to dealing with special needs children and all the challenges they brought—dealing with her family was a piece of cake!

            It was such an infuriating turn-on! What was an educated, determined, stubborn, clever and oh so smitten, woman to do?   Why marry the guy before some dumb bitch snatched him up before her!

            It was the best deal she ever closed in her life.

            Naturally, her father predicted that it wouldn’t last six months. He said he would end up having to pay for the divorce before he was done paying for the wedding! It was a ludicrous idea since Dis had actually paid for her own wedding. She refused to be indebted to her father of all beings; he would have demanded to have the final say in all things related. As if!

            Vili not only proved her father wrong, Dis found out that marriage to him was the best decision she ever made! Vili was not just calm, but down-to-earth, practical, unshakable and steady. He showed Dis how real people lived and what the real world was like; and the fact that he was not in the least bit threatened by her money, her position, her personality, nor her family, was just icing on the cake. Vili proved to be nothing less than perfection; a quiet center to the hurricane that was Dis’ life.

            Plus, Vili gave her the one thing she thought no man could give her; a family.

            When the boys came along, Vili proved once more, that he was the one for Dis. He cared for the boys at her side—refusing to neither take Thrain’s approach of hands off, _let-the-woman-do-it_ , nor even consider the idea of hiring a nanny. Thrain made comment after comment to the point that even Fris couldn’t turn her normally blind eyes to the attacks. But Vili ignored Thrain’s constant commentary, each of his biting remarks, every one of his sarcastic insults, and countered them with comments and retorts that nullified anything Thrain threw out and finally, Thrain had to back down. Oh, he never gave up, even to this day, he had no qualms to throw out a one-liner aimed Vili’s masculinity, but Vili’s armor was not dented in the least.

            As for keeping the boys home; that was pure logic. It didn’t take long for anyone to notice that even with two years between them, Fili and Kili were like twins—hurt one, incur the wrath of the other. So, it was no surprise when the other children found out quickly that the best way to get the Durin boys in trouble was to pick on one, wait for the other to come to the rescue and then cry to the teachers that it was two against one. Sure, the teachers were aware of the pattern, but there was little to be done; regardless who started it, it was two against one. So the decision was made to home school, and Vili, being a teacher, was to be their tutor. Dis made more money than God, so really, what was the problem?

            They still wanted their sons to have social contact, so Vili would often take them to the park, museum outings became educational as well as fun, trips to historical sights, the aquarium or, Dis’ favorite, lunch with their mother. It ended up being a win-win for everyone.

            Of course, the entire situation—from the switch of traditional roles to the boy’s being home schooled, just gave her male-chauvinist, near-misogynistic father, more opportunity to insult and belittle Vili for not being ‘man enough’ to care for his wife and children.

            Dis was convinced that one day, she would simply throttle her father with her bare hands and leave his corpse sitting as his desk.

            Sadly, Vili wasn’t the only one to live under the constant assault of Thrain. Dis made a promise to herself and to her boys at their births, to never let happen to them what happened to Frerin or Thorin. She vowed to make sure Fili and Kili were both happier and healthier than their uncles had been whilst growing up. She knew that Thrain saw it as _‘character building’_ and didn’t want his boys growing up to be _‘pansies’_ or _‘nancy boys’_ —a phrase that made Dis’ teeth itch whenever Thrain threw it out. But Dis had watched as Thrain’s comments really only brought Frerin lower, fueled all his adult depression and ultimate choice. Unlike Frerin, Thrain’s abuse drove Thorin into himself to where Dis knew the pain and hurt festered and turned in upon himself, to where his rare smiles and brief glimpses of joy were usually only shared with Dis or Dwalin.

            No, that wasn’t the life she wanted for her sons.

            Naturally, she had had her own personal issues to deal with when it came to her father. Many thought it was sweet and charming that Thrain had always viewed Dis as his little princess. Pampering her and coddling her. God, she’d hated it even as a child! Because really, it wasn’t about seeing Dis as some precious gem or jewel, it was actually his arrogant view that women were pretty things that didn’t really offer more to men than companionship, keeping house, looking pretty and soothing a _‘real man’s’_ urges.

            Dis tried to rebel and she had had to fight back every step of the way. Not surprising, Thrain thought even her most courageous stands against him _‘silly,’ ‘misguided,’_ or, Dis’s least personal favorite, _‘sassy_.’” Even now, after graduating top of her class at Oxford, pulling in some of the company’s best clients and being a major player at Durin and Sons, Thrain still had a habit of dismissing Dis, and her often spot-on observations about, and keen mind for, business. . .

            Dis looked at the clock; ten-fifty. She had ten minutes to gather herself and go into the last meeting of the morning. She had been courting Knightly Inc. for the last six months. They were a small firm but she knew that they were going to be big; she could feel it! Dwalin and Thorin, as distracted as they both were lately, had seen Knightly’s potential right off the bat. It amused her that no matter what either of those two had going on, they knew business and future projections as if they were clairvoyant. Well, she did too but no point in bragging—she didn’t need to brag about something everyone knew. If all went as she hoped and expected, Knightly Inc. would sign on by the end of the day.

            What she didn’t expect was to be stopped at her office door; by her mother.

            “Dis, darling,” Fris said, waltzing in as if she had arrived for tea. “I am so glad you’re here.”

            “Mother,” Dis said shaking her head to clear out the shock. “I can’t really chat right now.”

            “Oh, but sweetie,” Fris pouted, disappointed. “We just have to talk about Wednesday!”

            Dis tilted her head, confused—like a Labrador listening to cat’s sing. Just what _the hell_ was her mother talking about? Nothing strange happened yesterday. It had been just a regular— _Oh, shit,_ Dis realized what her mother meant, _this_ coming _Wednesday; Thorin’s birthday._

“Mother,” Dis huffed out a sigh; she was going to be late. “Now is just not a good time.”

            “But your brother is turning thirty-nine years old,” Fris said with a sad expression. “He’s been a little down lately as you know and I think—”

            “ _A little down_?” Dis was just incredulous and she couldn’t keep a frustrated laugh from escaping.

            _Fuck me five ways to Sunday._ How many times did she have to tell her parents that Thorin was ill, suffering really, before they finally saw it? Fris’ blindness that her eldest son was on a self-destructive path and Thrain’s stupidity over the whole thing, convinced that Thorin just needed to find a woman, settle down and give up this _‘queer’_ nonsense, was just too much to deal with at times. Dis had to wonder how she and her siblings had ever been born of these two people.

            “Mother,” Dis continued with more than a twinge of anger to her voice. “He is still dealing with the war and his injuries; which he _never_ dealt with! He’s more than _‘a little down.’_ ”

            Fris looked, almost, shocked. “Well, dear, I think you are overstating it just a bit, really. All he needs is a family gathering to put him to rights.”

            Dis had to wonder what went on in her mother’s head sometimes.

            Of course, Dis didn’t always have a clue what was going through Thorin’s head to be honest, but that was what Dr Grey was for. She believed Grey was truly helping as she had already seen an improvement. However, it was still a long road ahead for her brother. But one thing Dis knew for sure, was that Thorin hated parties, gatherings and all that crap—even before he was injured and damaged; he certainly didn’t want one now.

            “Okay,” Dis said with resignation. “Look, we will talk about this when I am done. We’ll go to lunch, or have tea later or … something. Just, I have to go.”

            “But, darling,” Fris sounded frustrate with Dis’ behavior. “This is family! It’s important.”

            “This is work,” Dis countered. “It’s just as important and frankly, you want to chat about a birthday party—hardly a major family event.”

            “I would think you brother would disagree.”

            “Yes, he would,” Dis said with a sardonic nod of her head. “With you—you know Thorin hates family get-togethers; he hasn’t wanted to celebrate his birthday since he returned. You are only going to end up royally pissing him off!”

            “Well,” Fris said pursed lips. “There’s no reason to use naughty language.”

            Dis rolled her eyes; her mother wouldn’t have said the word _shit_ even if her mouth was full of the stuff. Of course, leave it to her mother to think of _pissing_ as naughty language.

            _Okay, enough of this._ “Mother,” Dis said trying to remain calm. “We’ll discuss this later; right now I have got to get to this meeting.” Dis headed for the door but was stopped by her mother’s voice.

            “But I thought your father was going to handle that?”

            Dis didn’t move as an icy feeling tingled down her spine. “What do you mean?” Dis asked as she slowly turned around to face her mother.

            “I spoke with your father this morning after I talked to your secretary,” Fris said as if it was common knowledge. “I told him I needed to speak with you but that your secretary had told me you had a meeting and he said that he would talk to this—Blighty or Brightman company, so that you would be free.”

            Dis felt like the room was tilting. “Are you telling me,” Dis said as quietly as she could muster. “That Dad took over one of my accounts—an account I have worked _very hard on_ for six months, so that I would be _free_ to talk to you about Thorin’s birthday?!”

            Fris just gave a small shrug of her shoulders, clearly not understanding the problem.

            Dis leaned out of her office door to speak with her assistant.

            “Jane,” Dis said. “Did my father tell you he was speaking with Knightly’s on my behalf?”

            Jane’s eyes grew wide and horrified at the implications. “Oh my God—he certainly did _not_.”

            Dis closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “Do me a favor,” Dis stated. “I want you to get Mister Knightly or his wife, Emma, on the phone and let’s see what damage has been done.”

            “I’m on it,” Jane said as she was already reaching for the phone.

            “Oh, and Jane,” Dis added. “In the future, if my mother calls and wants to know my schedule or anything work related, just give it directly to me.” Dis didn’t blame Jane—the girl was just not used to the underhand tactics of Durin’s.

            “Yes ma’am,” Jane said quietly as Dis went back into her office.

            “I really don’t understand,” Fris said as she checked her make-up in her hand mirror. “What all the fuss is about?”

            “If what happened,” Dis said. “Is what _I think_ happened—my father just fucked up my work!”

            “Dis!” Fris looked horrified. “Such language! A Lady never says such things, even in private.”

            “Then you’re hanging out with the wrong ladies,” Dis muttered.

            Dis went to her desk and dialed her father’s office number. Unsurprising, his secretary picked up; Thrain never answered the phone—that was for lesser people.

            “I need to speak with my father,” Dis said as soon as the woman spoke.

            Dis waited. And she waited. And she waited some more. Frankly, she had no idea why Thrain took so long to pick-up; it wasn’t like he has much of a workload anymore. Thorin had been quietly, but effectively, been siphoning off Thrain’s accounts and distributing them among Dwalin, Dis and himself—most of it to himself, of course—for the last few years.

            While she waited, Jane entered and handed her a note. The look on Jane’s face said it all and Dis only felt her anger begin a slow build to its boiling point as she read what was written.

            After a few minutes, Thrain’s secretary came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Ms. Durin,” the woman said in a saccharine voice. “It seems he is busy.”

            Dis didn’t even bother to answer. She slammed the handset down and stalked off to her father’s office. She didn’t need to tell anyone to get out of her way or to back off—anyone that saw her automatically did one or other or both. She did, however, attract the attention of Thorin, who made to follow her when his greeting went unanswered.

            When she finally arrived at the huge double doors that lead to her father’s office, his secretary attempted to waylay the determined Durin’s but to no avail; Dis came through the doors like a battering ram and didn’t even bother to greet her father, or her two uncles that were sitting there—having drinks.

            “What the hell did you do?” Dis demanded.

            “Young lady—” Thrain started, but didn’t get to finish.

            “Don’t give me that ‘young lady’ crap!” Dis spat out. “I worked my arse off to bring the Knightly account on board, and in a matter of a few hours you have managed to ruin month’s worth of work.”

            Thrain didn’t even bother to look ashamed or repentant, if anything, he looked on the verge of smiling—he rarely took his daughter seriously.

            “They weren’t worth your effort,” Thrain stated with an air of condescension. “If you had come to me in the beginning—”

            “They had the potential,” Thorin said from behind his sister. “To triple their profits and worth within the next year!”

            “You can’t know that,” Thrain said as if Thorin had no experience. “You need to let the experienced leaders in this company—”

            “You mean you?” Dis countered. “You mean a leader that tosses a million pound a year client because you want to free up an associate to chat with her mother about parties?”

            “What?” Thorin was incredulous.

            “Yeah,” Dis turned to her brother. “Apparently your birthday is more important than running our company.” Thorin swore loudly at this.

            “You need to get your priorities straight, young lady,” Thrain said shake of his head. “If that deadbeat you married—”

            “Don’t start on Vili,” Dis was in no mood to play. “And this isn’t about my husband; this is about you destroying everything you touch!”

            “Now you listen, little girl,” Thrain started as if Dis was still a naughty twelve year old.

            “You son of a—” but Dis was stopped by Thorin.

            “Bottom line is this,” Thorin said stepping forward. “From this point on, no one handles another’s account without expressed authorization from the account manager.”

            “Are you forgetting that I control this company?” Thrain smugged at his son.

            “You may have controlling interest,” Thorin replied with a dangerously low growl. “But you’re still subject to the board of directors.” Thorin looked over at his uncles. “The board can still override you.”

            “Don’t count on it, boy,” Thrain sneered.

            “And I wouldn’t bet on it, old man!” Thorin shot back.

            Dis and Thorin exited the office; Dis was more than happy to slam the doors on her way out.

            As they walked away, Thorin spoke up. “Is there anyway to salvage the damage he’s done?”

            “No,” Dis said. “Knightly’s wife and partner stated that they feel they have been mishandled and they have decided to sign on with a more _‘competent competitor.’_ ”

            The disgust in Dis’ voice was rather telling to Thorin and he groaned. “Please tell me, they haven’t agreed to sign on with Azog Orcman over at Gundabad Investments?”

            Dis didn’t answer, only raised an eyebrow to show that Thorin had hit the nail on the head. Thorin turned red in the face and looked like he was about to explode; for one of the few times in the last three years, Dis felt that Thorin would be completely justified in such a display.

            But Thorin seemed to get a grip on himself and Dis was amazed. Clearly Grey was doing wonders for her big brother.

            “Thrain’s a menace,” Thorin said curtly.

            “What’s to be done?” Dis was resigned—almost.

            “One day,” Thorin said and he looked away with dark eyes. “He will make one mistake too many, he will go too far, and the board will have to remove him.”

            “He has controlling interest,” Dis pointed out.

            “Individually, yes,” Thorin conceded. “However, if we had Uncles Fundin and Groin with us, together, the group would have controlling interest.”

            “They will never side against Father,” Dis with a shrug.

            But Thorin was not so ready to give in. “For now. But someday.”

            Dis watched her brother storm off and in her heart, she hoped that his prediction came true—for all their sakes.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Balin had had a good day. He had gotten several reports concerning the merger of Telemax and Global and things were proceeding nicely. There was still some speculation regarding whether the EU would allow the merger to go through, but even though it would create one of the largest telecommunication companies in Europe, there were indications that it would not stifle competition nor monopolize the market. Also, Balin was able to assist Dis with the MacNeely Group—honestly he had no idea how Dis could deal with MacNeely’s CEO, he was always hot and cold.

            He had heard about the Knightly account from his father, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it now. Balin felt badly for Dis, though—she had worked that company through every step of the way, only to have Thrain ruin it all in the last few moments. He was glad that he was mostly removed from Thrain’s interference.

            Balin looked at the clock—six-twenty; that meant another twenty-five minutes. He was just waiting to phone Mister Wentworth with Kellynch and wrap up his day. Wentworth was an easy man to deal with but he had very specific times set aside for business calls; odd but there it was.

            Not to worry, Balin had today’s crossword to do while he waited and he could go see Dwalin as well.

            He had only just left his office when he heard and felt that he was not alone. Turning he saw Dis, Gloin and Gimli coming down the hall towards him.

            “Done for the day, are we?” Balin teased.

            “Why aren’t _you_ is my question,” Dis asked as she adjusted her purse strap.

            “Because why go home to work,” Gloin threw out in mock seriousness, “when he can just stay here and do the same.”

            “I am waiting to make a client call,” Balin offered gently. “Then I shall go home.”

            “To do more work?” Gimli asked sheepishly, as if he thought he couldn’t tease his cousin/uncle.

            “I hadn’t planned on it,” Balin answered, but didn’t meet anyone gaze.

            “But that doesn’t mean you won’t, does it?” Dis stated firmly with a raised eyebrow. When Balin answered with only a cleared throat, the other three burst into good-natured laughter.

            “If you three delinquents are done,” Balin said, trying not to smile. “I’m off to see my brother—who just might give me more respect.” Balin turned to resume his trek to Dwalin’s office but he naturally walked slower so the others could walk with him.

            “I doubt you will get more respect from Dwalin,” Dis countered with another chuckle. “And I also wouldn’t count on him being there.”

            “Is he meeting this new man of his?” Balin was getting suspicious, Dwalin had almost flat out refused to speak of the man. “He’s met him for lunch both Tuesday and yesterday if I am not mistaken.”

            “You’re not mistaken,” Gloin said with a quick look at Dis. “Not that any of us have met him—well, except Dis.”

            “He was here for all of twenty minutes,” Dis said. “I would hardly call that _meeting_. Not to mention he was soaking wet!” The last line got a laugh from both Gloin and Gimli but Balin was confused.

            “What do mean, soaking—” but that was far as Balin got because as they rounded the corner to Dwalin’s office, there was someone standing by Carolyn’s desk, thumbing through a magazine.

            The young man was dressed smartly in black pants and Doc Marten shoes. He wore a sleeveless, tartan cardigan in shades of purple over a Dove grey shirt which was done up to the neck but no tie. His dark auburn hair was cut short on the sides and back but the top had a messy, wind-blow look that was obviously on purpose; while a simple black leather messenger bag was slung across his chest and rested on his left hip. However, it was the young man’s face; warm brown eyes set in pale, smooth skin with just a hint of freckles across his elegant nose, which truly caught Balin’s attention.

            _Dwalin always did have particularly good taste,_ Balin thought.

            There was something else though, something not obvious in the young man’s dress, but in the way he carried himself; this was not some empty-headed youth.

            _How interesting._

            Balin was just turning to Dis to ask her about the young man, but she was already walking towards the subject at hand.

            “Well, hello again,” Dis said with her hand extended.

            “Oh, hello!” The guy threw the magazine down and took Dis’ hand. “How are you?”

            “I’m well,” Dis answered with a smile. “I was going to ask you the same.”

            The young man smiled brightly in return but he also met Dis’ gaze evenly and without the usual look of someone intimidated by the woman Balin knew and loved so much.

            _How very interesting indeed_.

            “I’m very good,” the guy answered. “Thank you again for your help on Monday.”

            “Not at all,” Dis said sincerely. “I didn’t introduce myself properly the other day, I’m Dis Durin, Dwalin’s cousin.”

            “Pleased to meet you—officially,” the young man said. “I’m—”

            “Ori Ryson,” Dis finished and then continued when surprised blossomed on Ori’s face. “I found your badge, initially.”

            Ori just smiled and relaxed, and Dis turned to introduce Ori to the rest.

            “Everyone, this is Ori Ryson. He was the one that fell through our doors during Monday’s downpour.”

            _Oh, so that’s how they met._ Balin heard rumors about someone falling in the lobby, but he didn’t connect it with Dwalin before now. He suddenly understood Dis’ comments to his brother about how nice a rainy day could be; and Dwalin’s non-verbal growls in reply.

            Gloin and Gimli offered their hands and introduced themselves to Ori, who politely took them and offered a beautiful smile in return.

            “How do you do, Mister Ryson,” Balin offered as he shook Ori’s hand. “I’m Balin Fundinson, at your service.”

            “Oh!” Ori’s eyes lit up. “You’re Dwalin’s brother! I’ve heard so much about you!”

            “Have you?” Balin stated as he thought, _Wish I could say the same._

            It was then that Dwalin came out of his office with a large sports bag in his hand.

            “Okay, babe, are you—,” Dwalin’s eyes first widened at the group before him before narrowing at everyone that wasn’t Ori. “What are you all doing here?” Dwalin demanded.

            “We _work_ here,” Gloin said sarcastically, to which Gimli snickered.

            “We were just on our way out,” Dis said. “But we ran into Ori and we introduced ourselves.”

            “Because apparently no one else was going to do it,” Gloin said under his breath.

            “Well don’t let us hold you up,” Dwalin retorted.

            “So much for my crossword help,” Balin commented good-naturedly to Dis.

            “You do the crossword, Uncle Balin?” Gimli asked brightly.

            “I love doing the Sunday one,” Ori added.

            “Me too!” Gimli stated to Ori.

            “My roommate got me hooked on it,” Ori offered to Gimli’s response.

            “I have do mine in pencil, though,” Gimli said shrugging a shoulder and offer Ori a crooked smile.

            “Don’t feel bad,” Ori supplied with a commiserating look. “I do too! My roommate, however, does his in pen! If you can imagine.”

            Judging from their matching grimaces, Balin surmised that neither of them could imagine. And of course, throughout Ori and Gimli’s exchange, Balin noticed his brother’s eyes growing a bit darker the more Gimli laughed with Ori.

            “Well, we need—,” Dwalin started.

            “What’s your question, Uncle Balin?” Gimli asked, cutting Dwalin off and rousing Balin from his observations.   

            “Uhm,” Balin had to look down for a second to remember. “Twelve letters, two words, ‘Point of No Return.’”

            “Any clues?” Gimli asked with a look of concentration already on his face.

            “The last letter is ‘N’ and there is a ‘T’ in the middle,” Balin answered.

            “Is the ‘T’ the fifth letter?” Ori wanted clarified.

            “Yes,” Balin stated surprised.

            “Event Horizon,” Both Ori and Gimli chorus at once.

            Gloin gave Gimli the same startled look that Dwalin gave to Ori; Dis and Balin just looked between the two young men before shrugging their shoulders at each other.

            “It’s a boundary in space-time,” Gimli supplied effortlessly, “beyond which, events cannot affect the observer.”

            “The most common,” Ori continued, “is the one surrounding a black hole. It’s the point where the force of gravity cannot be escaped; hence the term, ‘point of no return.’”

            “How do you _know_ this?” Gloin demanded of his son, while Dwalin could only gape at Ori.

            Gimli clearly felt on the spot. “I attended a couple of lectures on Astrophysics when I went to Oxford; for fun!”

            “For _fun?!_ ” Gloin looked like he didn’t quite understand the word. “Who goes to lectures for fun?”

            “What about you?” Dwalin asked Ori, gently.

            “Well,” Ori said, also giving Dwalin a sheepish smile. “I can’t say I went to lectures for fun, but I love watching _‘Cosmos’_ with Neil deGrasse Tyson.”

            Balin almost laughed at Dwalin’s dumbfounded look at Ori and decided to use the moment to find out more of Dwalin’s young man.

            “Do you have a degree in similar subjects?” Balin asked Ori.

            “Oh, no,” Ori replied with little laugh. “My degrees are in art and history.”

            “ _Degrees?”_ Dwalin stated. “I thought you had only the one in Graphics.”

            “Actually,” Ori said as a blush spread over on his face, “I have two ... a Masters in Art and Design, and a Bachelors in Art History.”

            Balin was becoming more than curious.

“I’m heading out,” Carolyn said from behind Dwalin as she reached for the sports bag. “I’ll drop these off at the cleaners.”

            “Are those your suits?” Ori asked which Dwalin nodded for confirmation. “Why don’t we just drop them off so Carolyn can get home?”

            “It’s not done that way,” Carolyn said.

            “Excactly,” Dwalin said with a little laugh.

            “What?” Ori asked, looking offended if Balin was correct. “Because she's your assistant she has to do all your chores?”

            Carolyn smirked but said nothing and Balin watched his burly brother flush red, obviously embarrassed. Of course, except for Ori, all the rest of them knew why.

            “It’s not that, babe,” Dwalin started.

            “Then what is it?” Ori asked.

            “She has to do it,” Dwalin countered.

            “Why?” Ori scowled at Dwalin. “Because she’s a woman?”

            As Dwalin stumbled over his words, Carolyn came to the rescue with the truth. “If I don’t take them,” Carolyn said quietly, “He will loose the little ticket and in a few days forget all about them, then in about three months time he’ll get a nasty phone call from the cleaners to pick them up or else.”

            Dwalin looked anywhere but at Ori, while Dis and Gloin both worked very hard to hide smirks; Gimli giggled out loud.

            Ori on the other hand just sighed and shook his head but Balin could see the affectionate little smile he gave Dwalin.

            “Carolyn,” Ori said, gently taking the bag from her. “ _We_ will drop them off, and _I_ will hold on to the ticket and remind him about it. Go home.”

            Balin was flabbergasted; only Carolyn had the cheek to handle Dwalin. Dis and Gloin obviously thought the same as they gaped at Ori, who didn’t notice. When Balin glanced at Dwalin, however, he saw that his brother was far from offended, and was bestowing Ori with a besotted look, as the young man slung the bag strap over his shoulder.

            Carolyn wished them all goodnight as Dis, Gloin and Gimli did the same and the four of them moved off to the elevator, leaving Balin, Dwalin and Ori standing there.

            “Well,” Balin said turn back to his brother and Ori. “I'm going to head back to my office.”

            “We’re going for dinner; would you care to join us?” Ori asked sweetly.

            Balin caught the momentarily shocked look on Dwalin’s face, which was quickly followed by a threatening look thrown at Balin from behind Ori’s back—obviously Dwalin thought Ori’s offer was to be declined.

            “That is very sweet of you, Ori,” Balin said. “But I am waiting to make a call to a client so you two go on and enjoy yourselves.”

            “Another time perhaps,” Ori stated over his shoulder as Dwalin immediately began leading him to the elevator.

            “Another time,” Balin called.

            _Oh yes, another time and soon._ Balin thought as he dropped his smile. _I need to know more of you, Ori Ryson, if you can so effectively manage my brother._

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Mommy’s home!” was all Dis heard before two large blurs came at her from out of nowhere.

            “Hello, darlings,” Dis gave her boys each kisses and a hug.

            “Did you have a good day, mommy?” Kili asked; his brown eyes bright with mirth and cheer. Honestly, Dis had to wonder if the boy was ever not going to be full of joy—she hoped not.

            “Don’t be stupid,” Fili said with an eye roll. “She was at work—no one has a good day at work.”

            Dis gave her oldest boy a mock look of outrage, which only made the boys laugh. “I had a very good day, thank you very much!” Well, that wasn’t true but she didn’t need to tell her boys that.

            “Did you take over any companies?” Kili asked

            “No, sweetie,” Dis laughed.

            “Did you fire anyone?” Fili asked with too much of a gleam in his eye for Dis’ liking.

            “Certainly not,” Giving her blond boy a pointed look.

            “Boys,” Vili said, coming up behind them. “Why don’t you go and set the table; dinner is almost ready.”

            Dis turned her head and saw a glass of wine held out to her. _Oh my god, I love my husband so much,_ Dis thought as she took the glass and drank a good portion down.

            “Bad day?” Vili asked quietly as the boys took off for the kitchen.

            “You have no idea,” Dis replied.

            She proceeded to tell of her mother’s visit and her father’s interference. Vili listened and throughout dinner, allowed Dis to vent and complain.

            “Do you want me to speak to him?” Vili offered as they finished up.

            Dis gave her wondrous, brilliant but still lovingly clueless husband a smirk. “What would be the point?” Dis shrugged and finished off her second glass of wine; she was done now. “Even if he listened to you—which you know perfectly well he wouldn’t, he has always viewed women as nothing more or less than accessories to men and their world.”

            Vili huffed out a sigh. “I just hate the fact that he uses your gender as a means to measure you worth.”

            God, Dis loved her husband.

            “The only good thing,” Dis stated. “Was that I escaped the treatment and abuse that was heaped on Frerin and Thorin.”

            Dis had, sadly, always been perfectly aware of Thrain’s opinion on his sons, and swore her boys would never go through that.

            Frerin had been sweet and kind and when he loved, he loved deeply and true. Naturally Thrain viewed Frerin as weak. Constantly pushing for more and more, not caring that Frerin was struggling to meet what anyone else would see as Thrain’s near unobtainable goals. And it didn’t stop at Frerin’s grades or his choice of career path—Thrain always expressing ‘disappointment’ that his youngest son should want to be anything other than a partner in the family business. Thrain ridiculed Frerin on his friends, his clothes, his lack of interest in the business markets and mergers, take-overs and investments, and even his choice of the foods he ate. But it had been who he loved that had finally brought out the worst, most vicious attacks and in the end, pushed Frerin over the edge.

            Of course, Thrain never blamed himself, only used the entire ugly outcome as ‘proof’ of Frerin’s weakness. Dis was heartbroken over Frerin, and so was Thorin—not that anyone but Dis knew it.

            Unlike Frerin, who wore his pain close to his skin, Thorin retreated into himself. He ignored Thrain, refused to comment, simply stared off into the distance when Thrain started in on his eldest in regards to courses of study, what friends to have, what parties to attend, who to rub elbows, even who to avoid, what to do and not to do to close a deal and _‘for God’s sake, don’t go fucking the wrong kind of people like your brother!’_

What an irony that comment turned out to be.

From the time Thorin hit puberty, Thrain was throwing every woman old enough to bare children into his field of vision. Naturally, Dis knew Thorin’s preferences long before Thorin admitted it out loud. There was a point that Dis really thought Thorin might marry some girl just to get Thrain off his back. But then 9/11 happened and something changed in Thorin, something wondrous in Dis’ eyes. He no longer seemed willing to coast along, to simply play the game. And it was just a few months after the attacks, at one of those awful family parties that Thrain pushed too far and Thorin stood before his family and came out!

            Oh her father had been incensed and even downright cruel to Thorin, but Thorin had dealt with as well as he always did the ridicule; burying it deep within him.   However, one year, almost do the day, Thorin decided that it was time to do more than just be honest about his sexuality—it was time to an honest human being and he enlisted. Dis was so proud of him and Thorin really came into his own.

            She had no idea then that eventually the pain and damage of war would take an even greater toll on her big brother.

 

            -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “How is everything?” the waiter asked sycophantically, but still nice enough to be truly polite.

            “Everything is great,” Ori replied with a smile. Dwalin only gave a quick nod and smile for his response.

            Honestly, everything was great. The food was excellent, the wine superb, the atmosphere was quiet but dull and the booth was almost private—all the booths were round in shape with high backs and the opens all faced in ways that other patrons couldn’t see in easily. All in all, it was a lovely evening, if Ori was asked.

            Dwalin, on the other hand; not so much.

            Ori had noticed a slow decline in his companion’s conversation; that alone would have been odd. Now, Dwalin was staring at his plate, simply pushing the food around with his fork and that was definitely not like the burly man—Ori had watched Dwalin put away twice the amount of a regular man and still be ready for desert.

            Something was off and Ori had made a promise to himself that if there was a problem, he would talk it over with Dwalin, not let it fester—the same should go for his knight as well.

            “What’s the matter?” Ori asked softly, putting his silverware down and picking up his glass of wine.

            Dwalin gave a small smile. “Nothin ... I’m tired is all.”

            Ori hummed in response and took a sip of wine, not believing a word of it. “You weren’t tired at the office.”

            “Really, babe,” Dwalin said with a look at that spoke the opposite. “It’s just a long day finally catching up to me.”

            Ori took another sip before commenting. “You know,” Ori replied with a bit of cheek. “I’m not a chimp with half a brain.”

            “What?” Ori finally got Dwalin’s full attention.

            Ori giggled. “I just mean, I’m not stupid.”

            “I never said—”

            “No you didn’t,” Ori cut across. “But please, don’t treat me as such ... I can tell something is bothering you.”

            Dwalin didn’t respond to that.

            “Did I embarrass you about your dry-cleaning?”

            Dwalin laughed. “Hardly ... I have no idea why I lose those damn tickets; hopeless really.”

            “Well, that’s a relief and I really don’t mind reminding you,” Ori stated. “Are you upset about me meeting your family?”

            “Not at all,” Dwalin was emphatic. “It would have happened sooner or later.”

            Ori nodded in agreement. _Okay, that’s two down._ He didn’t like the next one, but he was going to ask, especially after Dwalin’s concern over Bilbo.

            “Did Gimli and I ... _upset_ you?”

            Dwalin was quiet for a few seconds. “No.”

            _Yeah, right._ “Don’t think I didn’t notice your face when he and I were chatting.”

            “I wasn’t jealous,” Dwalin said, but seemed to rethink it. “Well, not much.”

            “Ah,” Ori felt they were getting somewhere. “You do realize that, like my roommate, I have no interest in Gimli.”

            “I never thought you did,” Dwalin replied and Ori could see he was sincere.

            “Then what’s the issue here? Because there definitely _is_ an issue.”

            Dwalin was remained quiet but Ori knew him well enough to know that the man was mulling over his reply. He didn’t really think it was about Gimli or even jealousy, he had a funny feeling it was nothing he was expecting.

            “You know I haven’t kept my past a secret,” Dwalin said finally.

            _Check the box—totally not expecting that one._ “I wasn’t aware you had a past,” Ori quipped.

            “I mean,” Dwalin continued. “You know I dated often.”

            “I think term you are looking for,” Ori said with a smirk, “is _habitual_.”

            Dwalin laughed as Ori giggled. Frankly, Ori didn’t care about Dwalin’s past liaisons, only his current one.

            “You could also say that I was known for dating a certain type,” Dwalin added softly.

            “Ah, yes,” Ori nodded. “The cute and clueless.”

            Dwalin nodded with a slight blush to his cheeks. “I did seem to attract them.”

            “Of course you did,” Ori stated. “You have ‘Daddy’ written all over you.”

            “But they were also easy,” Dwalin said, but rushed on when Ori just raised an eyebrow to that comment. “What I mean is, I didn’t have to try and make anything work because no one had any expectations about the relationship.”

            Ori got that, but what he was missing was where this was all going.

            “It was a given,” Dwalin continued on. “I had money, fast cars, posh flat, I got them into the best places and the hottest clubs ... we all got what we wanted.” Dwalin wore a small smile but Ori could tell that it was a bit sad, probably a little bitter too. “Only, I always hoped that one day, somewhere, I would meet someone that would be more than a quick fuck and a financial drain on my bank account.

            “Then you fell into my life ...literally.  And you’re intelligent, clever, funny, confident, and talented. You don’t take my crap, you see right through me half the time and ... I love it! Add on the fact that you are ambitious, determined, and will probably end up being director of you department at some point. Hell, you could probably end up being the editor of the damn magazine someday!”

            Ori was taken aback. “Dwalin—”

            “And don’t forget,” Dwalin continued on, “that you’re young, attractive ... beautiful really, and you could have someone as young, talented and smart as you are, and yet—”

            “Dwalin—” Ori couldn’t wrap his head around all this.

            “You have _two degrees_ ,” Dwalin started, obviously impressed.

            “Yes,” Ori caught off guard. “Two degrees I worked very hard for.”

            “No doubt,” Dwalin replied. “But for me, university wasn’t about schooling, it was four years of drinking and parties. Four years away from mom and dad! Shit, I don’t even know what my degree is in!”

            “Are you saying you don’t need a degree for your work?”

            “Oh hell, babe—me and Thorin were running around the office when we were in primary! By the time we got to uni, we already knew more than the professors did and it all came naturally for us. When we got out, we already had jobs right here with the family business; it was a piece of cake.  Everything I do, is like breathing for me!”

            “So what’s wrong with that?” Ori really couldn’t see the problem.

            “I’m a one-trick pony,” Dwalin scoffed. “I can’t do anything else.”

            “I doubt that,” Ori countered. “Besides, even if it were true, you are wildly successful at it.”

            “Money makes itself,” Dwalin said. “You invest right, buy low, sell high and you look for the potential of companies and then all have to do is sit back and let the money multiple.”

            “Well, I couldn’t do that,” Ori stated flatly.

            “That’s not my point,” Dwalin huffed out a sigh. “Your background, talent and degrees open dozens of doors for you ... from business, to the art world ... you could open your own graphics company; you could be a curator for a museum I bet or a docent at least. And I will lay you ten to one, you could teach what you know, so add educator to your list.”

            “Dwalin—”

            “And you watch educational programs,” Dwalin said with a shake of his head.

            Ori had to chuckle at that. “I said I watched _Cosmos_ , it’s not like I am taking Open University classes or something.”

            “No,” Dwalin with smirk. “But I’m the kind of guy that watches the BBC and Man-U and thinks that’s enough, while you’re filling your head with even more information.”

            “Well,” Ori huffed out. “It doesn’t matter to me that you only watch the news and sports!  And I'm no Einstein you know.”

            “Maybe not,” Dwalin said. “But it amazes me, because that shits over my head!”

            Ori could only laugh. “I don’t understand where all this is—”

            “What do I have to offer you?” Dwalin asked quietly.

            Ori truly couldn’t believe what he heard.

            “You have so much going for you,” Dwalin pushed on. “What do you see in me?”

            Ori was amazed; truly amazed, because, “You're totally serious with this."

            “It wasn’t until tonight,” Dwalin said leaning forward, “that I realized just what you were going through on Tuesday. I have no idea what I have to offer you.”

            Ori had to think that over. Not that he didn’t know or had really think on it, but because he knew that wording was everything and he wanted Dwalin to know, just what he had given him.

            “You know, Dwalin,” Ori said slowly but confidently. “I don’t care about your money, or your cars or where you live; none of that. Because that isn’t you.”

            Dwalin didn’t reply but watched Ori carefully.

            “You wonder what you offer me,” Ori continued. “You wonder what you do for me ... I’ll tell you. On a rainy day when I thought my day couldn’t get worse, you were the only one to offer his hand and pick me up.” Dwalin got a small smile on his face at the memory as Ori went on. “You held my hand and sat me down and even made me a simple cup of tea ... my favorite by the way ... and you told me if I needed anything else to let you know.   And I knew that you meant it.”

            Ori reached over and took Dwalin’s hand in his own and felt a surge of emotion for the man.

            “Then you returned my badge to me, at my office.”

            “Well, I wanted to see you again,” Dwalin added shyly. “I did have ulterior motives.”

            “You still brought it _to me_ ,” Ori pushed. “You could have called the magazine’s main number and asked for me and had me come get it, but instead, you arrived early, stood outside, waited, and gave it back to me. Within only twelve hours, you were kind, considerate, and chivalrous ... someone you only just met.

            “Then when I bullied you into lunch,” Dwalin laughed out loud to that. “You went with it, you took me to a fabulous place and tried to impress me and, really, you pampered me.”

            “I scared the shit out of you,” Dwalin stated with a pointed look.

            “But that wasn’t your fault; that was mine,” Ori corrected. “And I would like to remind you that the very next day, you showed up dressed in jeans and a jumper, driving a beat-up old Rover ... which I love by the way, so keep it ... and you apologized and asked me for another chance.

            “And do I need to tell you about when I talked of Nori?” Ori said quietly. “You offered me comfort and support and you barely knew me.”

            “I knew you enough to know you were hurting,” Dwalin added softly.

            “And you sit here and dare to ask me what you have to offer me,” Ori said, his eyes a little wet. “Let me tell you Dwalin Fundinson, you offer me everything of I’ve ever wanted.”

            Somehow, dinner was forgotten at that point and if anyone had a problem with them sitting close, Dwalin’s arm wrapped around Ori, Ori’s head resting on Dwalin’s shoulder—they didn’t say anything.

            As far as Ori and Dwalin were concerned, they had better not dare.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            It was late by the time Dwalin pulled up in front of Ori’s building. There was the customary snuggling kisses—of course! But Ori thought that maybe, it was time to offer more.

            “Would you care to come up?” Ori asked, almost shyly. “I’m sure Bilbo is home but he is probably in his room.”

            Dwalin gave a little chuckle. “Like sneaking your boyfriend in your flat so your roommate doesn’t hear.”

            Ori laughed because, yeah, it did feel like that. “He won’t mind I’m sure.”

            “Ah, but,” Dwalin said kiss to Ori’s cheek. “I would.”

            “Why—”

            “Ori,” Dwalin said seriously. “I don’t want our first time together to be with your roommate two rooms away.” Ori only nodded before Dwalin caught what he said. “Of course, I shouldn’t assume that you were inviting me up for—”

            “Oh, no,” Ori said with smirk. “Go ahead and assume—that was exactly what I was inviting you up for.”

            Dwalin kissed him deeper before pulling back and reaching up to caress Ori’s face. “You are welcome to come my place, but I doubt we’d get a great deal of sleep and I know you have your big day tomorrow.”

            Ori sighed and made a grimace. “Don’t remind me. And you’re right—stumbling into the office tomorrow wearing the same clothes I had on today, probably not the best way to make a good impression.”

            Dwalin laughed and chewed on his bottom lips for a minute before being brave. “Listen,” Dwalin began. “I know I only mentioned it in passing on Tuesday about going to Paris this weekend—and sadly it’s a bit late to make plans for that. However,” Dwalin drew a breath.   “If you would like, how about I drive us out to my place by Windsor on Saturday, we spend a quiet afternoon and dinner together—just the two of us—and then I can bring us back on Sunday.”

            Ori nodded but then gave his opinion. “I don’t want to spend a Saturday night at Windsor.”

            “Okay,” Dwalin was disappointed but he would think of something.

            But Ori couldn’t hold his smile back. “I mean, I want more than Saturday.” Dwalin looked Ori with surprise. “What I want, Dwalin Fundinson, is for you to drive us out there after work tomorrow and come Monday morning, I will be more than happy to stumble into the office wearing the same thing I wore on Friday—because I want Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights with you—and only you.”

            Dwalin could hide his grin if he tried; which he didn’t want to. “As you wish.”

            “Good,” Ori whispered and leaned forward to kiss Dwalin fiercely. When they broke apart, Ori smacked his lips. “So, tomorrow lunch and then Windsor after work.”

            “Try to get off work early if you can,” Dwalin said with hooded eyes.

            Ori hummed in agreement. “We should probably get to bed early tomorrow night.”

            “My thoughts exactly,” Dwalin said with a wink.

            Dwalin got out and opened Ori’s door for him. They kissed again and then he watched as Ori retreated into the building’s interior. As he drove home, Dwalin was filled with thoughts of Ori, and the promise of their weekend—a promise pregnant with possibilities for the future, both near and far.

 

 

 


	6. FRIDAY - Black Friday, Part 1 (AM)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori is surprising Dwalin, by bring Bilbo to lunch so they can meet. Unknown to them, Dwalin is bringing someone as well ...

* * *

 

            “Bilbo,” Ori called out, “Are you ready, yet?”

            There was no answer for a few seconds until Bilbo walked out of his bedroom, straightening up his waistcoat. “Give a man a minute!” Bilbo finally answered without looking at Ori.

            “For a second,” Ori stated, “I thought you weren’t going to come in today.”

            “I told you I was,” Bilbo said with huff. “And you know I have to,” before adding dryly, “Although I would rather go to the dentist and have my teeth pulled without Novocain.” Bilbo put on his tan, tweed jacket and straightened his bow tie, as Ori laugh at Bilbo’s comment—because it was true!

            Most writers and a few others at the magazine worked from home or on the road, while some departments were there all the time; like the Graphics Department. But one Friday a month, almost everyone came in for in-person, or “all-staff” meetings. The meetings were supposed to be a sort of ‘meeting-of-the-minds’, to catch-up or brainstorm and all that crap, but they usually ended up being bitch-fests and gossip sessions.

            “Do you need to stop anywhere on the way in?” Ori asked as he checked he had everything.

            “Of course!” Bilbo added as he slung his leather saddlebag across him and checked for his own items. “I want to run into Starbucks.”

            “Oh, God,” Ori pulled a face of disgust. “Their coffee is so burnt!”

            “It’s not burnt,” Bilbo countered. “It’s just a little roasted.”

            “Yeah, sure,” Ori quipped, “like Joan of Arc was _just a little roasted_.”

            “That’s disrespectful,” Bilbo said, giggling and sounding anything but respectful.

            “She dead,” Ori said fixing his hair. “She doesn’t mind.”

            Bilbo laughed out loud at that. “Be that as it may, I am not interested in their coffee.” They both headed out the door, and Ori waited while Bilbo locked up. “I want a couple of slices of their lemon pound cake—I’ll never make it through the morning meetings without something to nibble on!”

            “Why not just stop at Bombur’s Cafe?” Ori suggested as he headed down the stairs.

            “Aren’t we going there for lunch?” Bilbo countered as he followed.

            Ori shot a quick, confused look over his shoulder as he continued down the steps. “Is there a problem getting breakfast at the same place that you’re going to for lunch?”

            “You don’t think that’s just kind of—boring?” Bilbo was clearly under the impression that the idea was obvious.

            “You’re grabbing nibbles,” Ori said evenly. “It’s not like you are being forced to have tea with Camilla!”

            “Please,” Bilbo muttered as they exited their building. “I’d have tea with Charles if I could skip these meetings!”

            “Let’s not go overboard.” Ori quipped, which got a laugh from Bilbo.

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Good morning, Carolyn,” Dwalin said with a grin as he breezed passed his secretary’s desk, where she sat with her desk phone to her ear.

            “How was dinner?” Carolyn asked as she jotted down messages from her voice mail.

            “Lovely,” Dwalin answered in a contented voice that drifted out from his office.

            “Do you need me to have your car readied for the weekend?” Carolyn said casually as she hung up the phone, and then turned to see a wide-eyed Dwalin standing in his office doorway.

            “How did you—”

            “It’s written all over your face,” Carolyn gave him a cocked eyebrow as she slowly stood up. “I’m going to get coffee ... would you like a cup?”

            “Yeah,” Dwalin said with a nod of his head. “And add a shot of scotch ... I'll need it if I am to deal with a mind-reading assistant!”

            Carolyn just laughed and Dwalin seriously worried, _Maybe I should start buying her more gifts—she knows me way too well._

            Dwalin returned to his desk and booted up his computer. He had a meeting with Dis at eight-thirty and hopefully he’d be done in time to call Bill Darcy regarding the man’s overseas investments. Dwalin began to work out how to get away early; he would love to get a jump on traffic and get Ori and he out to the Windsor house for an early dinner and then maybe to bed early. _God, bed early_. For the first time in his life, he was nervous about sex with someone. But then, Ori wasn’t just someone; Ori was so much more than that.

            “I’ll bet you a hundred pound note,” Balin’s voice sounded as he came through the door. “That I can guess who you’re thinking of.”

            Dwalin gladly let loopy smile spread across his face, as he stretched his arms above him before putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair.

            “Sorry,” Dwalin said letting the grin get bigger. “I won’t take that bet, because I will freely admit that Ori’s on my mind.”

            “And you both met ... when?”

            “Technically Monday,” Dwalin said, sitting up straight, “but officially on Tuesday.”

            Balin nodded as took a seat, placing the folder he was carrying on his lap. “He seems quite cozy around you, already.”

            Dwalin shrugged but did loose his smile.

            “What has Ori told you about himself?” Balin asked quietly as Carolyn entered, placed a large mug of coffee on Dwalin’s desk and then left.

            Dwalin blinked, a little surprised at Balin’s question, before he answered. “He works for a magazine just down the street ... House Proud, I think it’s called. I know he grew up just outside Brighton, raised by his two older brothers,” Dwalin continued as he watched Balin slowly nod. “His eldest brother, Dori, has a Bed and Breakfast—”

            “ _The Grey Hen_ ,” Balin said.

            “What?”

            Balin opened the folder in his lap, not watching Dwalin who sat there slightly gaped-mouth. “The Bed and Breakfast is called _The Grey Hen_ at No. 9 Oriental Place, in Brighton.”

            “How do you know that?”

            Balin didn’t answer but continued on. “And the brother’s name is actually Theodore.  Theodore “Dori” Ryson ... former professor of Humanities of the Ancient World, Brighton University, now retired.”

            Dwalin’s brain had completely come to a stand still; he could barely process what was happening right there in his office.

            Sadly, Balin didn’t notice.

            “Orlando “Ori” Ryson,” Balin pulled out a different sheet from his papers. “Born first of September, nineteen-seventy-eight, to a Miss Victoria “Tori” Ryson ... single, never married ... who was a store manager for Sainsbury’s before her untimely passing on the twenty-first of January, nineteen-eighty-nine, from breast cancer. Dori and Ori had another brother ... Norville “Nori” Ryson, who was a Captain in the Army but assigned to the Ministry of Defense, before his tragic death in the 7/7 attacks. Ori does currently work at—”

            “Hold it!” Dwalin spat out. “Just what the _hell_ did you do?”

            Balin seemed genuinely taken aback at Dwalin’s question. “Just a basic background—”

            “You did a god-damn background check on my boyfriend?!”

            “Well, I would hardly call him your boyfriend.”

            “Fuck you! He is I say he is!”

            “Dwalin,” Balin said in a patronizing voice that made Dwalin even madder. “You’ve barely known this young man for four days ... not even really.”

            “So that gives you the right to check on him and his family?” Dwalin was pissed off. “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?”

            “I’m your elder brother,” Balin countered, his own anger rising. “And you cannot be shocked that we'd look into someone that has gotten so close to you, so quickly!”

            “You mean, _you_ ,” Dwalin snarled out. “I don’t see any _‘we’_ here!”

            “Well, I spoke last night with Father and—”

            “You fucking told _Dad_?!”

            “Of course ... is there a reason why he shouldn’t know of you and Mister Ryson?”

            “Oh, so now it’s _‘Mister Ryson?’_ Ori no longer deserves to be called by his first name?”

            “That isn’t what I meant!”

            “Get out!”

            “Dwalin—”

            But the younger Fundinson was already moving; he took Balin by the arm, hauled him out of the chair he sat in and marched him out of the office.

            “Dwalin,” Balin said, trying to regain so order. “Please try and understand, we—”

            “You crossed a line, brother,” Dwalin snarled, grabbing the folder out of Balin’s hands and brandished it in his older brother’s face. “ _This_ is crossing the line!”

            Never in his life had Dwalin raised a hand to his brother, even when he was younger and so much bigger than Balin, had he even considered it. But now it was all he could do to contain his anger and resist the urge to punch Balin in the face.

            “Dwalin, if you would just—”

            “Carolyn,” Dwalin barked out, ignoring Balin completely. “I don’t want to be disturbed by _anyone_ , for _any reason_!” Dwalin slammed the door to his office which was followed by the sound of the lock engaging.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            If someone has asked anyone in the office about Carolyn Goddard, the general consensus would be that Carolyn was unflappable. Those who didn’t know her well thought of her as the Ice Princess—the title of Ice Queen naturally went to Ms. Durin. Most, however, would describe her as professional and no-nonsense.

            Carolyn considered herself married to her job. She never had children, never married. She’d worked for Durin and Sons for ten years, but it wasn’t until she met and started working for the younger Fundinson that she found the perfect boss for her. At the time, Dwalin had recently gotten out of the Army. He was brash, bold, even a bit cocky but not in a bad way, and he was _sharp_ without the pretentiousness she had found in many other members of the Durin clan. He had a wicked sense of humor and never took _himself_ that seriously. He did have a mouth like a sailor but Carolyn grew up with five older brothers; vulgarities were nothing to her. But most refreshing of all, he _never_ treated her as anything less than an equal—despite being a Durin, her boss and a burly, ex-military man, he gave her nothing but respect and rewarded her often for her knowledge, her assistance and for her loyalty.

            In return, she gave the same back to him.

            Oh sure, she knew his tastes almost immediately. She would laugh at some of the pretty, Barbie-doll assistants who’d dreamily watch Dwalin and sigh over him. Never once did those girls bother to watch Dwalin’s eyes as he watched some cute, handsome, _male_ walking by. But Carolyn did. And frankly, she loved Dwalin all the more for it; not because she wanted to be a Grace to his Will, but because he didn’t make any bones about it, was honest, open and never hid the fact that he was gay.

            How could one not admire that?!

            It was the very reason that she knew and respected Dwalin so well, that she was sure of the anger, pain and hurt he felt at his brother’s betrayal—at least, she was sure that’s how Dwalin viewed it. She’d heard Balin recite Ori’s stats like he was reading the Sunday Times, felt a little sick as the older Fundinson tried to justify his actions, and smiled when her beloved boss threw his brother out of his office.

            Of course, she wasn’t surprised at Balin’s actions—she would have loved to have been, but sadly she wasn’t.

            That didn’t mean she wasn’t appalled, though.

            It hadn’t taken her hours in front of the computer doing Google searches or enlisting the company private detectives—as she was sure Balin had done, to see that Ori Ryson was nothing less than the best thing to happen to Dwalin Fundinson. She also didn’t need to be in Ori’s presence for more than five minutes to know that the same could be said of Dwalin for Ori.

            No, Carolyn _wasn’t_ surprised, yes, she _was_ appalled and, as God was her witness, she would support her Dwalin to the bitter end.

            “Dwalin, please—” Balin knocked but got no response. “Carolyn, will you—”

            “I’m sorry,” Carolyn crossed her arms and gave a hard stare to Balin, “but Mister Fundinson does not wish to be disturbed.” She was completely unmoved by the scowl forming on Balin’s face.

            “Carolyn, I must insist—” Balin started but didn’t get to finish.

            “I’m sorry,” Carolyn repeated and turned away so that Balin had to listen to her while staring at the back of her head. “Mister Fundinson made his directive _very_ clear.”

            Balin gave Carolyn a heated glare when she turned back around but it had zero effect on the middle-aged woman. Carolyn’s face spoke volumes of steely resolve; she was not intimidated or afraid of the older Fundinson brother in any way, shape or fashion.

            Finally, Balin stormed off, at the same time Dis walked over to Carolyn’s desk.

            “Care to enlighten me?” Dis asked softly as she watched Balin leave.

            Carolyn considered it—for about two seconds, but sighed instead.

            “I’m sorry, Ms. Durin,” Carolyn said with an unreadable face. “It isn’t my place to say.”

            Dis nodded but looked at Dwalin’s locked door in contemplation. After a long few seconds, Dis said, “Would you inform Dwalin that I need to move our eight-thirty to later this morning?”

            Carolyn smiled—leave it to Dis to be inconspicuously compassionate when Dwalin needed space. “I will be more than happy to let him know, Ms. Durin.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dwalin was incensed—so much so he couldn’t see straight. He could only sit with his elbows on the desk, cradling his head while he breathed in and out in a vain attempt to get his equilibrium back.

            He wanted to throttle someone!

            But he knew that it wouldn’t work. There was only one thing to help him right now and his mind and right hand were already ahead of him as he automatically reached for his phone and tapped out a quick text— ** _Call me._** He hit send and then just dropped his cell on the desk where it bounced once before settling face down.

            It was not ten seconds before the button on his desk phone, indicating his private line, lit up and the phone rang. His hand grabbed the handset and brought it to his ear.

            “Hey there,” Dwalin said quietly.

            “Hey,” Ori’s voice sounded softly. “Are you okay?”

            Dwalin’s heart rate was already slowing and he put a fake smile on his face in the hopes that it would come across in his voice. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

            “Are you sure,” Ori sounded unconvinced.

            “Yeah, babe, I’m fine,” Dwalin tried again with what he thought was more success, because frankly, just knowing Ori was on the other end of the line helped. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

            “Aww, that’s so sweet of you.”

            Dwalin’s smile became genuine. “I’m looking forward to seeing you at lunch.” Ori’s bright laugh filled his ear and Dwalin could feel the tension leaving him.

            “You just saw me last night!” Ori said with a giggle.

            “Well, that was ages ago.”

            “Ten hours.”

            “Ten, long, _tedious_ hours.”

            “You sap,” Ori cooed sounding anything but unhappy about Dwalin’s sappiness.   “But I have to be honest; I’m looking forward to seeing you too.”

            “And you call me a sap,” Dwalin replied, feeling elated at Ori’s words.

            “Well,” Ori said playfully. “I have a surprise for you.”

            “For me?” Dwalin felt like a kid; the tone of Ori’s voice was wondrous. “What is it?”

            “Yeah,” Ori laughed. “Because asking’s going to get me to tell you.”

            Dwalin laughed now and it felt so good. “Okay, fine—be that way,” Dwalin fakes a pouty sound that earned him another bright giggle.

            “What’s the matter?” Ori teased. “Don’t you trust me?”

            _God, yes, I trust you, more than you know, because—because I think I love you, and I know I need you._ “Of course, I do,” Dwalin tried to keep it light, but wasn’t sure if it was working.

There was a pause on the other end, Ori didn’t respond right away and Dwalin was almost about to say something.

            “Dwalin,” Ori’s voice was low and soft, a whisper almost, and for a moment, it felt like Ori was right there with him.

            “Yeah, babe?” Dwalin whispered back.

            “I want you to know,” Ori replied. “I trust you too.”

            Was there something else in that statement? It sounded like it— _felt_ like it. Suddenly there was murmured talking on the end; someone was saying something to Ori.

            “Dwalin,” Ori said when the murmuring stopped. “I have to go; we’re about to start the morning meeting.”

            “Go,” Dwalin said gently. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

            “Have a good morning.”

            “Bye, sweetheart.” Dwalin breathed out; he felt much better, so much better.

            Then his eyes fell on Balin’s folder and he knew what he had to do.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            If there were two things Fundin Farinson was most proud of, it would have to be his sons. Both where sharp and driven, with that Durin sense of family. True, Balin took after his wife—God rest her soul, while Dwalin was almost a carbon copy of Fundin himself.   Despite the differences, though, they worked well together. Not even when they were young and prone to fighting as brothers are want to do, neither of them came running to Fundin to complain, tattle or ask Daddy to settle it.

            Which is why having his fifty-one-year-old son, pace and fume about his younger brother, made Fundin laugh—at least on the inside?

            “It was completely uncalled for!” Balin said wearing another groove in the carpet.

            “Balin, sit down,” Fundin said, but went unheard.

            “I mean,” Balin continued as he made another pass before his father’s desk. “He literally dragged me out of the chair and threw me out of his office!”

            “BALIN!” Fundin couldn’t take the pacing anymore. “Sit down!”

            His eldest son huffed out a response and flopped into a chair like he was a teenager! Again, the older man was tempted to laugh out loud but didn’t.

            “Now,” Fundin said. “When we talked last night, do you remember what I told you?”

            “Of course,” Balin replied. “You said that it was important that we know more about this young man.”

            “True,” Fundin countered. “But do you recall how I told you to go about it?”

            “You said,” Balin with a touch of defensiveness, “to be careful.”

            “I _said_ to be discreet.”

            “I didn’t flash it about and contacted one of our personal private detectives.”

            Fundin sighed. “I meant, discreet, not in a secretive way, but discreet as in subtle and non-threaten.”

            “But I didn’t make any threats!”

            “You went behind Dwalin’s back and you spied on someone he obviously cares a great deal for!   How could you think that wouldn’t be taken as a threat?!”

            “It was just a background and criminal check.”

            At that moment, Fundin was actually sorry Balin was too old to put over his knee and spank to living daylights of out. “You should have simply asked this young man to—I don’t know,” Fundin was getting sarcastic now. “Have lunch or dinner with us all! Not hire Holmes and Watson to investigate him!”

            Balin chewed on the inside of his cheek and seemed reluctant to meet his father’s gaze. Fundin suddenly wanted to smack his own head against the desk.

            “Oh, please tell me,” Fundin pleaded. “You didn’t _actually_ get Sherlock Holmes for this?”

            “No, I didn’t,” Balin stated.

            “Good.”

            “He said it was too boring,” Balin said. “However, he did say if there was a murder later on, to call him back.”

            “Oh for the love of—” Fundin was at his rope’s end. “Bottom-line is this—you screwed up Balin and I am expecting you to make it right—both with Dwalin and his young man. What’s his name, again?”

            “Ori. Ori Ryson.”

            “I’ll be expecting you to make up to Ori as well.”

            Balin nodded. “Yes, father.” The older Fundinson stood up and left.

            Fundin sat back and sighed while he rolled his shoulders to release the tension that had settled there. Honestly, he loved his sons but really, when they did something it was never by halves—even when they screwed up!

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

           

            “Hey there,” Bilbo said, coming up to Ori’s desk. “Ready for lunch?”

            Ori rolled is eyes. “Totally. I love my department but they are all nuts.”

            “I heard that!” Kat called good-naturedly.

            Bilbo laughed and walked towards the flame-haired woman. “Hello, I’m Ori’s roommate, Bilbo.”

            Kat took the offered hand and returned the handshake. “I'm Kat; it's nice to meet you. He has talked about you often. Well, you _and_ Dwalin.”

            Ori turned bright red and but didn’t say anything, even when both Bilbo and Kat laughed.

            “Well, we are headed for lunch,” Bilbo said to Kat. “Would you care to join us?”

            “Nah,” the woman said giving Ori a smirk. “I hear you will be meeting the _fabulous_ , Mr. Fundinson—I don’t want to get in the way.”

            “So,” Bilbo said surprised. “You’ve already met him?”

            “Oh, yes,” Kat added. “I was blessed by the sight of Dwalin on Tuesday.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Bilbo who looked a little stunned.

            “Okay,” Ori said, grabbing Bilbo arm. “Time to go—or we’ll be late.” 

            “Nice to meet you, Kat,” Bilbo said as he was pulled away.

            “You too, Bilbo,” Kat said with a chuckle before calling after the two retreating men. “And I look forward to seeing you again and getting your opinion on Ori’s hunky paramour!”

            Even from thirty feet away, Kat could see Ori’s blush flare across his face once again as he turned to glare at her.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo------

 

            Just as he was checking he had everything he needed; wallet, cell phone, and the information sheets from Balin, Dwalin heard a soft knock on the doorframe of his office. He turned and saw his cousin standing there.

            “How’s it going?” Thorin asked, leaning on his cane.

            “Okay,” Dwalin had calmed considerable, but every moment standing there with the door open was a moment when Balin could show up and that was not something Dwalin wanted to deal with just yet.

            Thorin nodded but it didn’t look like a nod of agreement. “I heard about this morning.”

            “Who told you?” Dwalin was sure Carolyn hadn’t said anything and would swear that Balin would stay quiet, either from anger or guilt—although he might speak with their father. So, frankly, Dwalin was curious.

            “Dis told me,” Thorin stated.

            “How did she find out?” Dwalin should have known—Dis didn’t miss a trick.

            “According to her,” Thorin said, “she came in and heard the tail end of you barking at Balin, slamming your door in his face, Carolyn refused to let him in on your orders and add to that, you were rather— _terse_ , to say the least, in your meeting just a bit ago with her.” Dwalin just shook his head. “She didn’t know the specifics, but …”

            Dwalin pulled the folded pages of Balin’s reports, out of his back pocket and held them up. “Balin did a background check on Ori and his family.” Dwalin put them back—he wasn’t about to offer them up to anyone to see.

            Thorin shook his head. “That is—unfortunate.”

            “It’s offensive is what it is!”

            “I won’t disagree with you, but are you truly surprised?”

            Dwalin thought about it for a second. “Yeah—I am to be honest.”

            “You two have gotten very close, very quick.”

            “That’s what he said, too.”

            “Can you blame him then?”

            Dwalin huffed. “If he wanted to get to know Ori, he should sit down and talk to him—not violate him.” Because that was what it was in the end—a violation and Dwalin wouldn’t tolerate it.

            “You know,” Thorin said taking a breath and gazed at the floor before looking at Dwalin directly. “The other day I told you to be careful and I—I’m sorry—I was wrong.”

            Dwalin was amazed, but glad. “Thank you.”

            “Clearly, Ori is not like others you’ve dated.”

            “No, Thorin,” Dwalin said, smiling just at the thought of his Ori. “He is so much more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

            “Well, then,” Thorin said with a strange, sad smile that Dwalin missed. “I look forward to meeting him sometime.”

            “Why not come to lunch?” Dwalin asked. After the whole Balin fiasco, he wanted someone in his family to meet Ori properly.

            But Thorin seemed reluctant. “I don’t want to intrude.”

            “It’s lunch. We aren’t having a romantic dinner or sex on the table!”

            Thorin couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank God for that! But, no really—you two should be alone.”

            “What’s the matter?” Dwalin smirked. “Afraid?”

            Thorin rolled his eyes but in jest. “Don’t think that will work on me, wanker.”

            Dwalin barked out a laugh. “Chicken Shit—you’re too scared to go meet someone for lunch.”

            “You’re pushing it,” Thorin said but he was smiling so the remark lacked heat.

            “Come on,” Dwalin stated. “When was the last time you actually got out of the office for lunch?”

            Thorin didn’t answer—he didn’t know to be honest, and Dwalin could already read that on his face.

            “Look,” Dwalin offer. “We’re only going to Bombur’s; you can grab something to go if you really don’t want to stay, but you should get out of this fucking place for once.”

            Thorin chewed on the idea and remembered Grey telling him to get out and be around people, even if it was for a short time. “You’re sure about this?”

            “It’s just lunch, Thorin! What can go wrong?”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bombur’s Café was one of the best-kept secrets in the city. Although it was just around the corner from Durin and Sons and the offices of House Proud Magazine, it was off the beaten path. One really had to know of it before hand to go there, or be shown it by one of its many customers.

            Bombur served simple fare but were well known for their sandwiches and deserts. When one walked in, there were two huge, glass displays—one on either side of the register/order counter. The display on the left was enclosed and displayed all these available deserts for that day; the right display was open and it had ready-to-go sandwiches which were made fresh daily in the upper part but had individual drinks on the bottom. Of course, there was seating so customers could order-in and get away from work for a bit.

            The whole operation was run by Bombur and his cousin, Bifur. Bombur was known for his deserts, soups and stews, while Bifur handled sandwiches.

            Bilbo knew of Bombur’s Café because, Bombur’s brother, Bofur, had been great friends with Nori and had worked at the Ministry of Defense with Nori before his death. Bilbo hadn’t seen Bofur for years at this point, but he always made sure of asking Bombur about him and asking him to say hello for Bilbo. Today was no different.

            Bilbo knew he was just going to have Bombur’s famous tomato and basil bisque soup and half a sandwich, but what he really wanted was desert! Bilbo was crouched down so that he could get a good look at everything in the display case. There were cakes; chocolate, carrot, lemon and even a Victoria Sponge—his personal favorite. Cookies of course; sugar, oatmeal, chocolate chip and ginger—which he really loved but preferred them with a bowl of vanilla ice cream! Naturally there were muffins and cupcakes, and two pies—lemon meringue and French silk.

            But it was the tray of croissants with a honey glaze that caught Bilbo’s attention. For a brief moment he was taken back to a lazy Saturday morning, almost three years to the day. With his mind’s eye, he recalled watching strong hands gently pry open a hot croissant, spread a light dab of butter, drizzle a small amount of honey over the butter, and then extend it for him to take a bite.

            Echoes of voices rang from his memory; his own saying, _‘Thank you’_ , and a deep, rich voice answering, _‘Anything for you, my love.’_

            Bilbo shook his head to clear it.

            The crowd wasn’t packed but there were lots of people milling about. Still, between all the bodies, the distraction of the desert case, and his own recollections, Bilbo was only vaguely aware that Ori was talking to someone; a part of his mind remembering they were meeting Dwalin but it didn’t bubble up to the surface into pure, conscious thought.

            Suddenly, someone grab the back of his waistcoat and yank him upright.

            “Dwalin,” Ori said brightly. “This is my best-friend—”

            Bilbo didn’t hear Ori finish his sentence, because as his head cleared from the sudden change in position, he felt the world tilt sideways and he was staring into the eyes of the man who still lived in his dreams.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

           

            The walk to Bombur’s Café wasn’t terribly far from the office. This was a good thing. While he had adapted to using a cane, Thorin still had a difficult time if he had to walk long distances coupled with having to walk around other people and obstacles on the sidewalk.

            Dwalin had kept up a steady stream of chat about Ori. Thorin had been truly sorry to hear about Ori’s middle brother and he was instantly thought back onto the day his life had changed.

            Well the first time it changed, anyway.

            It had been just another Tuesday in September. He had finished having lunch with Dwalin and they were heading back to their offices. His secretary at the time had a message; his two-thirty appointment had cancelled—something to do with their New York holdings. It seemed odd at the moment, because those investments were only a small part of his client’s portfolio. What could be so wrong that they had to cancel an appointment for something that mattered little to them and was three thousand miles away, across the ocean?

            It was only minutes later, as Dwalin rushed into his office and turned on the TV that the world he had known before came to an end. The surrealness of it never left him. It made no sense and the horror that innocents had been used and killed was sickening. Within half-an-hour, every TV and radio throughout the offices was on and tuned to either CNN or the BBC.

            As he watched the events of the day unfold, was when the first inkling that his life was hollow—meaningless and empty really—had reared his head. All the innocent lives and destruction threw into sharp contrast the banal life he had been living. All the money, meetings, cars, parties, celebrities, even the revolving door of secret lovers—none of these things meant a damn thing in the end.

            And he was suddenly, horribly stricken that his closeted existence was in no small way contributing to that.

            He had wanted to come out for years if he was honest. But something—usually his father, had driven him back into closet to believe that silence was best. His brother’s suicide just ten months prior to 9/11, had been the spark, and the terrorist attacks and all its realizations were but fuel for the ever-growing fire within him.

            It had been the December after the attacks; one year since Frerin’s death, when the family gathered together for some reason or another. It wasn’t because of Frerin, no, Thrain had maintained that Frerin had been weak and his suicide did nothing but prove it. Frerin wasn’t discussed by his parents; so it was just himself, Dwalin and Dis that mourned _‘their sweet boy.’_

            But, as so often happened, Thrain ended up having one too many. First he started patronizing Dis, as he was want to do, then turned on Vili when he came to his wife’s rescue. Soon the comments turned to Frerin and how _‘weak willed’_ he was and all his _‘poor choices.’_ Thorin tired to keep quiet, telling himself to let the man ramble, make no comments and eventually he will get drunk enough to stop. But then Thrain turned on Thorin and began to loudly, insistently and crudely voice his wonder at why his twenty-seven year old son hadn’t _‘knocked-up some girl already!’_ He could still hear his father’s voice, _‘Just don’t go fucking some Paki girl like your brother! Find someone within your own race, for God’s sake!’_

            That was it; Thorin had reached his limit. Without thought, without planning, without the fear that had been there since he first realized he loved differently, Thorin stood before his family and told Thrain, _‘Don’t worry Dad. When I finally meet the_ man _of my dreams I’ll make sure he’s fuckable.’_

            Thorin remembered the ringing silence that followed his announcement, which sadly only lasted a few long seconds. Then Thrain was shouting, Thorin was yelling, Fris was crying, Dwalin was stunned and Dis sat there grinning like cat that got the cream! Somewhere in the middle of the shouting and screaming, Dwalin had stood by Thorin and in a show of solidarity, made the same announcement. Now Fundin was shouting, Dwalin was yelling, Thrain and Thorin continued fighting, Fris cried harder, Balin was stunned and Dis and Vili were _both_ grinning like idiots—happy idiots, but still.

            Needless to say, the evening ended quickly after that. But the genie was out of the bottle—or closet. There was no going back in.

            It took almost another year before everything, once again, came to a head. But this time, it wasn’t just his sexuality, but his life. Thorin had had enough and he decided that if his country was going to war then he would stand with her and fight. He needed to feel like he was part of something greater than himself—something that meant more than even his life. That’s what he told himself.

            The army had been a good decision. And like so many things in his life, Dwalin followed right behind him and enlisted as well. Army life showed him a side of living that he hadn’t ever seen; he rubbed elbows with people he never would have met before. After eight years in though, Thorin had been ready to get out, ready to finally live the life he always wanted.

            Then he met Bilbo, and all his dreams turned to ash.

            Thorin didn’t want to think about him, but that of course was impossible. Try as he might, no matter how much alcohol he drank, nothing could erase the hurt and pain—nor the memory of those nights together. Even now, three years later, Thorin was still haunted.

            It was time to shake it off. He didn’t need to be thinking of all that when he was about to meet Dwalin’s new guy.

            The place was crowed but not packed. They made their way towards the counter and Dwalin had already reached Ori, who had been pulled into a quick kiss. Thorin had to admit, Ori was cute—not as cute in the way _someone else_ was, but still. Frankly, Thorin could see that Dwalin and Ori fit nicely together.

            “Ori,” Dwalin said as Thorin came up beside him. “This is my cousin, Thorin.”

            “It’s very nice to meet you,” Ori said with a brilliant smile.

            “It’s nice to meet you, officially,” Thorin hoped that sounded okay. “Dwalin hasn’t talked much of anything but you.”

            Ori blushed and Thorin again had the word _‘cute’_ came to mind.

            “So,” Dwalin said beaming at Ori. “What’s this surprise you have for me?”

            “Oh my God,” Ori said wide-eyed. “I almost forgot!”

            Ori reached into the crowd by the display cases and pulled someone out of thin air it seemed.

            “Dwalin,” Ori said brightly. “This is my best-friend—”

            Thorin didn’t hear if Ori finished his sentence because the blood was rushing in his ears as his heart started pounding in his chest.

            _Right here—just reach out and touch him, he’s right here in front of you._

            But Thorin ignored his inner voice, he was truly deaf to himself and the world around him—all his focus was on the being in front of him, staring back with—with his beautiful, hazel-green eyes and— honey-colored curls; cheeks still apple-smooth and enticing—almost begging to be kissed.

            _He hasn’t changed—he’s still beautiful—still wondrous—I could just reach out and take him and end this all—end the torture—just reach out, grab him—shake him until my arm tires—demand an answer—he hasn’t changed…._

_But I have._

            “Bilbo,” Ori said as Thorin came back to his senses. “Are you okay?”

            But Bilbo was only staring at Thorin and was clearly not hearing anything else.

            “Hello, Thorin,” Bilbo said in a broken whisper.

            Thorin felt the red wyrm of anger twist around his heart. “Professor Baggins,” Thorin sneered.

            Bilbo flinched and part of Thorin cheered—another part wept—at the sight of Bilbo’s pain.

            Ori looked a little stunned as he glanced between Bilbo and Thorin.

            “Wait,” Dwalin said. “You two _know_ each other?!”

            Thorin stared hard at Bilbo who was starting to breath in a shallow, ragged manner. Thorin didn’t care—not much.

            “Sadly, yes!” Thorin spat out as he turned and stormed out of the café.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dwalin felt like he was part of one of those movies where nothing made sense and one just had to accept the ridiculous. Except it wasn’t a movie and what the fuck just happened was way beyond senseless—it bordered on illogical.

            When had Thorin met someone? And Ori’s roommate at that?! How could he have met the man and not have known of Ori to begin with? And when it comes to that, how had Ori not known either?

            Dwalin watched as Thorin marched out of the place and Ori’s roommate fled towards the back—where Dwalin assumed were the loos. Part of him wanted to stay with Ori and another wanted to go after Thorin. Looking at the shocked, bewildered expression on Ori’s face, Dwalin realized that they were both feeling the same way.

            Ori opened and closed his mouth, clearly unable to speak and looking between Dwalin and the direction Bilbo had taken. But there was plea in Ori’s eyes that Dwalin picked up loud and clear; _he needs me to take charge._

Dwalin could do that.

            “Ori,” Dwalin to get the younger man’s attention. “You go after yours.” Dwalin pointed towards the back of the back of the café before hitching a thumb back over his shoulder. “And I’ll go after mine.”

            “Right,” Ori agree and looked relief.

            “I’ll meet you back here,” Dwalin said pointing to the spot they were standing at, then swooped in, placed a kiss on Ori’s cheek and then took off to find Thorin.

            Dwalin hit the sidewalk and turned, looking for his cousin. _How the hell does he move so fast with that damn cane?_ As the crowd parted, Dwalin saw Thorin almost a block away and took off at a run. Luckily it didn’t take as long to catch him.

            “Thorin!” Dwalin called. “Wait!”

            Dwalin reached out to stop Thorin, but the man spun around as Dwalin got close. “Just back off, Dwalin!” Thorin hissed out as he turned to go.

            “What the hell’s going on?!” Dwalin did grab Thorin’s arm to hold him there.

            “I said, back off!” Thorin snarled out the words, tensing his arm in an attempt to pull away.

            Dwalin stepped back and sighed. He knew it was useless to try and talk to Thorin when he was like this.

            “All right,” Dwalin said, releasing Thorin’s arm.

            Thorin turned and stalked off, leaving Dwalin concerned as well as confused. But there was nothing to be done. Thorin was more than upset—Dwalin hadn’t seen Thorin this mad since his return and that was saying something because Thorin had actually slammed a door once so hard that the frame broke.

            With nothing for it, Dwalin returned to the café. Ori was not in sight, so Dwalin assumed that Ori was still wherever Bilbo had gone off too—most likely the loo. Choosing a table that allowed him a perfect view of the entire place, Dwalin dug in and waited for Ori to return. He had a feeling it might not be long; if Bilbo was even half as emotional as Thorin was angry, Ori wasn’t bound to get anywhere with him.

            “What can I get you, love?” a young waitress asked as she came up to him.

            Dwalin had no appetite for food. “What stouts do you have?”

            “We have Guinness, Beamish and Fuller’s,” the girl answered quickly.

            “Give me a Fuller’s,” Dwalin replied, mentally reminding himself to keep it to two, max. Last thing Ori needed to deal with on top of everything else was an inebriated boyfriend.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Ori hurried to the back; sure that Bilbo had gone to the toilets. That seemed to be Bilbo’s knee-jerk response; get upset, hide in the john. It would have sounded pathetic but Ori knew all too well what it could mean and he had no desire to relive that summer two years ago.

            As he entered the washroom, he was thankful there was no else in there but him and Bilbo, who was in the last stall. The stall door was closed but not locked.

            Bilbo was standing over the toilet, one hand on the wall to steady himself while another was clasped tight to his forehead. Just as Ori was going to speak, Bilbo began to retch. It lasted only a few long seconds but it was enough to wear Bilbo out and he slumped against the wall of the stall.

            “Bilbo,” Ori said as he reached out and steadied his friend by the shoulders.

            Bilbo took a couple of deep breaths, obviously attempting to calm down and made to stand up straight until another, but less violent, heave struck him. This time it was only one and Bilbo recovered quickly.

            “Bilbo, what happened—”

            “Could you,” Bilbo said, licking his lips and swallowing heavily. “Get me a wet cloth or towel, please.”

            Ori was reluctant to leave his friend but did as he was told; he went over to the sink, got a hand towel, run it under cold water and then rushed back to Bilbo with it.

            Bilbo used the towel to wipe his face as he continued to take deep, calming breaths. Finally, after what seemed like ages to Ori, Bilbo straightened up and huffed out a heavy sigh. Whatever Bilbo was feelings, the curly haired man appeared to have regained his composure.

            Now Ori wanted some answers.

            Ori backed up and let Bilbo exit the stall. As they made their way to the sink, Ori asked, “So, you know Thorin?”

            Bilbo only nodded and ran the hand towel under cold water again so he could pat his face with it.

            “When did you meet him?” Ori had never heard of Bilbo having another relationship after his brother Nori, let alone hear of Thorin in particular.

            “A some years back.” Bilbo said, keeping his eyes closed but taking more normal breaths.

            “When?” Nothing really made sense.

            “Ori,” Bilbo said, opening his eyes and throwing the towel away. “I really can’t talk about it now.”

            “But, Bilbo,” Ori pleaded as his best friend headed out of the room.

            Bilbo walked to the table up front where they had placed their coats and bags; it was next to the one Dwalin was sitting at.

            “Bilbo, please tell me what’s going on,” Ori sounded a bit desperate, but then only Bilbo and Dwalin knew that tone.

            Bilbo had his tweed coat on now and was slinging his saddlebag across his body. “Ori,” Bilbo said sadly. “I promise we will talk about it, but not now.”

            Bilbo made to leave but Ori shot out a hand to stop him. “Where are you going?” Ori was scared to let Bilbo out of his sight; panic was truly taking over him.

            Bilbo stilled then gently took Ori’s hands in his own. “I’m not going to do anything stupid,” Bilbo said quietly. “I just need to be alone for awhile.”

            Ori was still tense—he’d heard those words before and it didn’t set well with him.

            “I’m okay,” Bilbo said more firmly. “Honest. And I will call Andy in just a bit.”

            Ori released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “You promise me?”

            “I promise,” Bilbo repeated before pulling Ori into a tight embrace and whispering in his ear, “I—promise—you—I won’t do anything. I truly am, okay. I can handle this.”

            As they broke apart, Ori felt a little better but still not happy.

            Bilbo looked from Ori to Dwalin. “I’m very sorry.”

            Dwalin nodded. “Me too.”

            “This wasn’t your fault,” Bilbo said reaching out lightly gripped the bald man’s wrist, looking between Ori and Dwalin. “Neither one of you is at fault. This is between Thorin and me.”

            “And what _is_ the story between you two?” Dwalin asked.

            “Long,” Bilbo replied as he turned and left.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Thorin came through the doors of Durin and Sons completely unaware of anything around him. He headed for his office, his body on auto-pilot. He vaguely heard his name from his secretary, but he ignored the woman, slamming his office door behind him; he didn’t even register the cracking sound of the wood frame.

            The blood rushed in his ears and his breath was heavy like his chest was a bellows. He only stood there, in the middle of his office and breathed—his mind was still swirling with imagines of honey-golden curls and soft skin, of pain and blood, of war and screams, and Bilbo’s face with pain and fear in his eyes.

            He went to his desk and opened the right hand, bottom drawer. He lifted a few papers and there was the locked, false bottom door. As he unlocked it, Thorin pulled out a tattered, dirty piece of paper that threaten to fall apart at the seams where it had been folded, unfold, and folded again—over and over and over. The words faded but still readable; not that he needed to read it really, he had it memorized long ago.

            Suddenly the pain and hatred swelled up within him.

            Once gain, he was moving without thought, over to the hidden cabinet in the wall, where he poured himself a double scotch and downed it without really tasting it. He poured another and hoped that in time, the images would fade, the letter’s words would be forgotten and he could be left in peace.

            Of course, it was useless to hope—he was never at peace because he couldn’t forget.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bilbo walked—just walked. There was something soothing about having level pavement under one’s feet; it seemed to help ground a fluttering, conflicted, and painful heart. Without conscious thought, Bilbo found himself standing on WestminsterBridge, just watching the river below.

            Thorin’s face swarm in Bilbo’s mind and what he could not get over was not only how handsome Thorin still was but the—Pain? Hurt? They were there but there was something else, something worse in those icy blue eyes; _hatred._ Every time Bilbo thought the word, he felt like he wanted to vomit again.

            He had to tell himself over and over to just keep breathing.

            Bilbo was barely aware that tears were flowing now. He didn’t understand how it had come to this—all the sacrifice and pain, and yet he could see that Thorin was not happy. It took but seconds of looking into those eyes for Bilbo to realize that so much he had thought, was a fantasy; Thorin wasn’t living happily ever after.

            What had happened?

            Bilbo’s fingers automatically pulled out the thin chain around his neck, the one that bore a small golden ring; gifted to him one soft August morning. He twirled the ring absentmindedly in his fingers, and as he stared into to the cold waters of the Thames, a dark voice whispered in his mind.

_Go on, do it_

_Just do it_

_You will only be cold for a short time_

_One moment of courage_

_One moment of free-fall_

_A few moments of going under_

_Then a deep breath in and all the pain will be gone_

_All gone_

_No more worries_

_No more emptiness_

_Just_

_Do_

_It_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dori's Bed and Breakfast ... The Grey Hen (so called because Dori has grey hair and is considered an 'old mother hen' to Ori) ... is based on a real hotel ... The Oriental Guest House located at No. 9 Oriental Place in Brighton.


	7. FRIDAY - Black Friday, Part 2 (PM)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day couldn't be darker for some - but the night brings memories of another chance meeting, long ago ...

* * *

 

            “It doesn’t make any sense,” Ori said looking at Dwalin as if he held the answer.

            “Don’t look at me,” Dwalin stated with a shake of his head. “I can’t work it out. I mean, forget having a relationship with him, when did Thorin _even meet_ Bilbo?”

            “So you do think they had a relationship?” Ori asked.

            “I can’t say _for sure_ ,” Dwalin replied. “But you don’t get that angry over a one night stand.”

            Ori nodded. “What gets me,” Ori continued on. “Was that Thorin called Bilbo, _‘professor.’_ But Bilbo hasn’t taught since two-thousand-ten!”

            _Three years ago._ Dwalin shook his head again. “Thorin was still in the military then—at least for most of it. Then he was injured and in hospital for—,” Dwalin concentrated for a moment, “I’d say the last three to four months of that year.”

            “I guess they could have met before he left the university.”

            “No way. Thorin had a strict rule about starting a relationship or dating while he was in the service.”

            They both sat and mulled it over. Dwalin did not order food for himself, but Ori broke down, at Dwalin’s insistence, and ordered a large bowl of tomato soup and a ham and cheese sandwich. Ori had just as insistently, forced Dwalin to share his meal so that now they were picking at the food absentmindedly.

            “Did Bilbo ever do a story on the military?” Dwalin asked as he took a few spoonfuls of soup.

            “I don’t know, but I seriously doubt it,” Ori said swallowing a bite of sandwich. “Bilbo’s hobby is horticulture, he does articles on house plants and herb gardens, plus writing shorts for the magazine. They have other writers for political and government issues.”

            Dwalin nodded. He figured there would be writers for certain ‘beats’ and Bilbo didn’t strike him as the type for military coverage. “When did he start at the magazine?”

            “I want to say beginning or mid-September, two-thousand-ten.”

            “Then they can’t have met in London because Thorin was already on his last tour of duty in Afghanistan that September.”

            “Did Thorin ever go to Brighton?”

            “We used to go as kids, but he hasn't been there as an adult that I know of and certainly not since he has been in the army. Why?”

            “Because that is where Bilbo lived and taught before starting at House Proud. He went to University at Brighton and then Dori got him settled in there as professor.”

            “And what did he teach?”

            “Creative Writing and Nineteenth-century Literature.”

            They sat there, once again at a loss, and ate. It was several more minutes before had another idea.

            “You said,” Ori stated. “You holidayed in Brighton as kids?”

            “Yeah, Uncle Groin had a place there when we were young.”

            “Is it possible Bilbo and Thorin met when they were kids?”

            “Doubtful. I mean, I would have known as we were all inseparable and the last time we went as kids, we were twelve. How old is Bilbo?”

            “Same as me, thirty-four—although he will be thirty-five end of September.”

            “See, that kills that because Thorin is the same age as me, which means Bilbo was only eight when Thorin was twelve.”

            “And Bilbo didn’t move to Brighton until after his parents died; he was ten.”

            Dwalin growled in frustration, and said dryly, “You know, this is giving me a fucking headache and I’m not even in the damn relationship.”

            Ori laughed and took Dwalin’s hand. “But we’re both worried for our friends.”

            Dwalin nodded. “The plain fact is, we just don’t have enough information to know. I mean, can I assume that Bilbo never mentioned Thorin?”

            “Not a word.”

            “And Thorin never told me about Bilbo,” Dwalin said before hitting on something else. “You don’t think they might’ve met online?” Dwalin asked not really believing it.

            “I seriously doubt that,” Ori said shaking his head. “Bilbo hates the computer. He says beyond making writing easier, he has no use for the computer.”

            “Thorin’s the same way,” Dwalin stated. “We both are really. It’s great for business but there are other, more pleasant ways to waste time.” Dwalin gave Ori a wink which was returned by a sweet smile.

            At that, they both gave up and just ate. It was near the end of the meal that Ori had a little giggle to himself.

            “What’s so funny?” Dwalin asked, totally taken by the little smirk on Ori’s face.

            “I was just thinking,” Ori answered, giving Dwalin a full-on grin. “You were in Brighton when you were twelve. I lived there my whole life ... you could've met me then and we missed our chance.”

            Dwalin could help but chuckle at that. “You were _eight ..._ I've a feeling we might've felt differently about each other.”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Ori said softly, reaching up and running a hand over Dwalin’s bald head. “I think I would have fallen for you ... even with hair.”

            Dwalin had to smile at that. He could well imagine the beautiful child that Ori must have been. Would he have been taken at twelve by an auburn-haired boy with soft brown eyes and scattered freckles? Who could say? But at that moment, he knew he was taken by the man that child had grown into.

            It was then he remembered what else he had to do.

            “Ori,” Dwalin said with resolve. “There is something I have to tell you.”

            Ori’s smile dropped a little at the seriousness that was suddenly there. “What?”

            “Something unpleasant,” Dwalin continued.

            Ori narrowed his eyes slightly. “Does this have to do with why you called me this morning?”

            Dwalin huffed out a laugh; he should have known better than to think he could pull one over on Ori. “Yeah.”

            “What happened,” Ori looked displeased, but Dwalin couldn’t tell if it was because Dwalin was so serious or because he hadn’t been honest with Ori when they talked earlier. He was guessing the second.

            “After your chat with Balin last night,” Dwalin said, reaching behind him and pulling out the background checks form his back pocket. “He decided he wanted to know more about you.” Dwalin hesitated for only a few seconds and then handed over the sheets to Ori.

            Ori looked confused as he took the papers, but Dwalin waited patiently for him to look them over. Dwalin knew that many people would call him an idiot for saying anything, tell him he should have just shredded the papers and never bothered Ori with them. But that felt even more wrong than what Balin had done. In fact, if he was honest with himself, Dwalin knew that at some point, if this relationship went as far as he wanted it to go, Ori would find out later and then there would have been no saving him at that point.

Ori finally looked up and shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

            Dwalin was surprised, to say the least. “Ori, he did a background check on you!”

            “I see that,” Ori said lightly with another shrug.

            “Aren’t you pissed off?!” Dwalin thundered.

            “Shush,” Ori said with a giggle as Dwalin drew the attention of half the café. “I’m not chuffed about it, but I’m not cheesed-off either.”

            Dwalin looked like he was going to start shouting again.

            “Sweetheart,” Ori said quickly. “I can see you’re upset but I’m not ... really.”

            “How can you—” Dwalin started loudly but stopped, pulling it back in and calming himself. He leaned forward to hiss, “How can you _not be_? I was so _fucking_ mad, I tossed Balin out of my office this morning!”

            Ori’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, please tell me you didn’t hurt him!”

            Dwalin heaved out a sigh. “I don’t mean _literally_  ... I simply dragged him by arm, and then slammed the door in his face!”

            Ori shook his head and then used both hands to rub up and down Dwalin’s shirt-covered forearms. Ori didn’t know where the movement came from but it was instinctive and seemed to calm Dwalin down; plus Ori was never going to miss a chance to be in contact with his man.

            “I’m incredibly flattered,” Ori said in a soft, soothing voice, “that you are offended for me—”

            “It was a violation,” Dwalin whispered harshly, not quite back to normal. “It was basically—” Dwalin searched for the words before he spat out, “privacy rape!”

            Ori sighed. “I don’t know if I would go that far, Dwalin.”

            “I would!” Dwalin said, firing back up a bit. “Women say that rape isn’t about sex, it’s about power ... well, that’s what Balin did; he used his position and power to violate your privacy.”

            “If this is all the power he’s got,” Ori said with a smirk, picking put the sheets with one hand. “Then it’s the equivalent of stalking ... nothing more.”

            Dwalin raised an eyebrow, while Ori turned the pages so Dwalin could see.

            “Look—” Ori started.

            “I don’t want to look at them!” Dwalin said angrily. “I trust you.”

            “Dwalin,” Ori tried again. “Just look at these, there’s nothing here ... nothing.  Balin could've just Googled and gotten the information, _anyone_ could have gotten this information off the web! The only thing that’s criminal—”

            Dwalin looked at him wide-eyed.

            “Is that you now know my real first name,” Ori said mockingly.

            “I don’t find that funny,” Dwalin said with what Ori would later swear was a little pout.

            “It’s very funny,” Ori said soothingly. “Please don’t be upset over this.”

            “I don’t get it,” Dwalin said looking a little hurt. “I took you to a posh restaurant and wore the wrong suit and I almost lost you. But Balin snoops on you and your family and you laugh it off.”

            Ori grabbed Dwalin’s hands and pressed them between his own. “Sweetie, we both need to put Tuesday behind us. But, I’ll tell you this, Tuesday I was overwhelmed, I wasn’t prepared and it’s my fault it ended the way it did, not yours.” Ori held Dwalin’s hands tighter to impress that it mattered little to him now. “Now, however, I realize that you are a high profile family in very high powered dealings—Balin’s background checks are not surprising to me at all. I really expected more of an interrogation.”

            “No one would do that to you,” Dwalin said and Ori believed him.

            “I'm really not upset,” Ori urged. “I wish you wouldn’t be.”

            Dwalin looked at the damn sheets and knew that Ori was correct; there was nothing of real importance. However, “I still don’t like it.”

            “And the fact that you don’t like it,” Ori cooed, “only makes me love you more.”

            Dwalin stilled and looked at Ori, who had gone pale and still himself. “Say that again,” Dwalin asked in a whisper.

            Ori only sat there and Dwalin could feel Ori’s hand start to tremble in his own.

            “If it slipped out,” Dwalin said quiet, “I’ll understand. But, if you mean it, say it again.  Please.”

            Ori opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment and then, “I love you.”

            Dwalin closed his eyes felt a stupid, soppy smile spread across his face. When he looked, Ori was smiling shyly and a blush had blossomed across his cheeks. “Say it again, babe, for me.”

            Ori sighed, “I love you, Dwalin Fundinson. I do, I love you.”

            “You have no idea,” Dwalin said feeling the world was that much brighter. “How much I love you.”

            “Oh,” Ori replied as his blushed deepened. “I think I do.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            _No more worries_

_No more emptiness_

_Just_

_Do_

_It_

_….._

_….._

“No—No I won’t,” Bilbo said to himself as his sense came back to him. He had promised Ori he wouldn’t do anything stupid and it wasn’t fair to Ori, or to himself.

            This was no solution; this was insanity and Bilbo was _not_ insane.

“Bilbo?” a voice called from the right.

            Bilbo turned his head and stared, dumbfounded, at the last person he ever expected to see. “Bofur?!”

            Bofur looked down and then back up. “You don’t want to do that, Bilbo,” Bofur said softly as he reached out a hand to Bilbo’s arm.

            Bilbo looked down; he hadn’t noticed that he stepped up and placed his feet in one of the clover-shaped openings of the balustrade.

            “Bilbo,” Bofur pleaded, stepping closer and pulling slightly on Bilbo’s arm. “Please step down.”

            Bilbo did. “I wasn’t going to do anything, honest.”

            “Mother of God, Bilbo,” Bofur said, pulling Bilbo into an embrace. “What in the name of heaven were you thinking?!”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bofur had known Bilbo for years. Hell, Bofur had known the Ryson family before there was a Bilbo in their lives. It was shocking to see the sweet, curly-hair man that he had watched go from a tragic pre-teen to a confident, opinionated and utterly wonderful adult, standing on a bridge, deciding to take that one, last step.

            Bofur had walked Bilbo off the bridge and they had settled in a coffee shop just across from Westminster.

            Bofur wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t seen Bilbo in years but he knew him well enough that Bilbo’s actions were out of place.

            “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Bofur offered.

            “It’s too long and complicated, really,” Bilbo said, not looking up from his cup.

            “You know you can tell me anything,” Bofur stated.

            Now Bilbo met his friend’s gaze. “This isn’t something I can just talk to anyone about.” Bilbo’s expression was soft, but his eyes were filled with sorrow.

            “You need to talk to someone,” Bofur said.

            “I have someone,” Bilbo confirmed. “I just haven’t called them yet.

            “Is this person the reason you were on the bridge?” Bofur asked. “Or is this a professional type person?”

            Bilbo smiled; he knew what Bofur was asking. “He’s my shrink.”

            Bofur felt a bit better. “Call him now.”

            “Bofur,” Bilbo said sweetly. “I don’t want to keep you.”

            “Call him,” Bofur stated again. “While I am sitting here. I’m not leaving ‘til I feel that you’re safe.”

            “I’m safe,” Bilbo said. “Thank you.”

            Bofur wasn’t buying what Bilbo was trying to sell. “Nice try. Call him, now.”

            Bilbo huffed out a sigh. “You’re right.” He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out his phone. Bofur didn’t see the name or the number, but he did hear someone pick-up on the other end.

            “Hello, Andy,” Bilbo said.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dis wasn’t one for office gossip. The little office affairs and innuendos and so forth did nothing for her and she avoided them; unless they affected business.   However, that didn’t mean she didn’t love to tease and meddle a bit in her family’s lives. She also liked to have a network of ‘spies’ to help her. This meant getting to know and befriend the secretaries of the Durin men. Dis had a good control over all these women, with the exception of Dwalin’s Carolyn—she was unwaveringly loyal, professional and had the best poker face in the company. Frankly, Dis often kicked herself for trying to snag Carolyn for herself, but too late now—Carolyn would go to the stake rather than leave Dwalin, let alone betray him.

            But Thorin’s secretary, Harriet? She was so far from being Carolyn. Now that isn’t to say that Harriet gossiped about Thorin or spread rumors. Oh no, she was smarter than that and she was loyal. But Harriet had some hero worship in regards to Thorin, which meant that when something was wrong, she was more than happy to tell Dis. Because Dis was his sister and she cared—that was the way to get Harriet to open up about Thorin.

            That was also why she got the call from the woman now. Thorin had returned from lunch an hour ago and there was no word from him, he didn’t answer his cell or either of his work lines—external or internal, and knocks on his door were greeted with what sounded like a glass shattering against the other side.

            “How upset was when he came in?” Dis asked.

            “He slammed the door and broke the frame,” Harriet whispered into the phone.

            “I see,” Dis said. She was already standing up from her desk. “And he didn’t lock the door?”

            “I didn’t hear it lock,” Harriet confirmed. “But honestly, I don’t think the door will lock now.”

            “I’m on my way,” Dis stated. “Go ahead and call maintenance and schedule a repair for this weekend while he isn’t here to be reminded of it.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Harriet said as she and Dis hung up.

            Dis stopped only to tell Jane where she was going and then made for Thorin’s office as quickly but calmly as possible. She had no idea what to expect but she had to say, she was a little surprised. Thorin had been so much better the last few weeks, Doctor Grey was really reaching her brother and in fact, just this week had been good. She could only guess what had thrown Thorin off kilter now.

            When she arrived, Dis found Harriet just standing by the door but not touching it—as if the slightest pressure would set Thorin off.

            “Anyone else come by?” Dis asked quietly.

            “No ma’am,” Harriet answered fretfully.

            Dis nodded and took a deep breath. “Harriet,” Dis said before proceeding. “From this point on, anyone that comes by or calls, tell them Thorin is in a meeting with me and we have asked not to be disturbed.”

            “Right,” Harriet said, clearly glad to hand the situation over to Dis.

            Dis knocked but there was no answer. She tried the handle, but while it turned completely, the door didn’t budge. She tried again and no response from the door, however, she heard Thorin growl out, “I’m busy.”

            Now, she knew her brother well and while the voice was not a happy one, she could tell two things; first, the statement was a lie and two, he was drunk—not everyone would know that though. Thorin never got sloppy, slurry drunk.

            Dis turned the handle a third time and threw her weight against the door. Finally, it opened and she entered, careful to sidestep the remnants of three glasses lying broken on the threshold.

            Thorin’s desk chair was turned around so that he was hidden from sight.

            “I said,” Thorin growled again. “I’m busy!”

            “That might work with someone else,” Dis said, coming and closing the door. “But not with me.”

            Thorin slowly turned his chair around and Dis had to try hard to keep herself from reacting in either sound or facial expression.

            Thorin was a mess. His jacket had been discarded, his tie was undone, his shirt was stained from what Dis could only guess was scotch—judging from the smell in the room, and his hair looked as if he'd been running his hands through it and pulling. But his eyes were red, unfocused and he had that sallow look of someone completed inebriated.

            Dis carefully walked forward, trying not to catch her heel on one of the larger pieces of glass on the carpeted floor.

            “You look like shit,” Dis said as she got to the desk.

            “Sod off,” Thorin said, the words a little soft around the edges, as he raised the glass in his hand towards his mouth.

            In one swift move, Dis snatched the glass from his hand and sent it flying. She heard it break to her side but her eyes didn’t leave her brother’s. Thorin was on his feet in seconds; although he had to grab the edge of the desk to steady himself, his expression was murderous.

            “You want to hit me?” Dis said with a narrowed gaze. “Go ahead and try, but I warn you, you’re in no shape to take me on.”

            Thorin held here stare for only a few moments before deflating and slumping back into his chair, leaning to one side to cradle his head in one hand.

            “Please,” Thorin whispered brokenly. “Just let me alone.”

            Had he told her to get out, she could handle it. Had he spat out vitriol at her, she could handle it. Had they both continued to snark and fight back and forth—bring it on, she could handle it. What she couldn’t handle was the heartachingly broken quality to his voice. Never before had he had such defeated, hurt timber in his words and this was not something she was able to handle.

            Dis came around and knelt in front of Thorin. “What happened?” She asked softly.

            Thorin would not answer, but his face betrayed pain.

            “Thorin,” Dis was not above pleading. “Tell me what happened. What can I do to help you?”

            “You can’t help,” Thorin said, not opening his eyes. “No one can. It’s broken.”

            “What’s broken?”

            Thorin took a few breaths before speaking soft, “It looks on tempests, but is never shaken.”

            Dis knew that line—where did she know it? She had heard it before. “Thorin, what are you saying?”

            “It is an ever-fixed mark.”

            Of course, she knew; Shakespeare’s Sonnet, number one-sixteen. Thorin’s favorite. The one piece of classic _anything_ he ever bothered with.

            “Thorin, talk to me.”

            But there was still no real response. Where ever Thorin was in his mind, it was far from here.

            Dis stood and reached for Thorin’s phone. She hit the intercom. “Harriet.”

            The door opened to the office, after a shove, and Thorin’s secretary looked in. “Yes, Ms. Durin?”

            “Go get a large pot of coffee,” Dis said firmly. “Bring it back here and a couple of mugs.”

            “Yes ma’am,” Harriet said and was gone.

            Dis reached for Thorin’s mobile on his desk and dialed a number that she felt she should have known by heart.

            It was only a moment or two before the line was picked up.

            “Doctor Grey,” Dis said. “It’s Dis Durin.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Never in his life had he been so bored. Gandalf hated going to these gatherings, having to listen to pompous colleagues who thought themselves far above their patients, others who believed that every problem could be solved with few pills and a monthly visit, and still others who stuck to the old ways, because if it worked for Freud, it must be good.

            However, it was still important to come—one could never tell when that one, bright new person would show up and have some interesting insight or bright new idea on how to treat Bipolar disorder, PTSD, or Schizophrenia.

            And of course, this time, he had been asked to speak on his methods and conclusions with wounded vets and PTSD. He doubted many would listen or even attend his lecture—so many ignore the grievous mental trauma that veterans returned home with or, worse yet, believe these men are simply faking it to get benefits; disgusting in Gandalf’s opinion.

            He had just settled into his room and made his way down to the lobby for the meet and greet reception when his phone went off. Pulling the smart-phone out—he so did love new technology, he saw a very familiar number.

            “Bilbo!” Gandalf said cheerfully.

            “Hello, Andy,” Bilbo replied.

            Now, Gandalf knew that voice all too well. “What’s the matter, my boy,” he asked.

            It took a long few moments to answer. “I wonder if I can see you,” Bilbo said softly.

            Now, Bilbo Baggins hadn’t been an official patient for several months now. Gandalf was quite fond of the young man and as far as he was concerned, Bilbo had become a good friend. He got him stable, and then discharged him, but insisted that Bilbo only needed to come by for lunch, or a visit and if there _happened_ to be chat that sounded like a doctor/patient discussion—well that was between them and no one else! Gandalf had no desire to charge Bilbo or his insurance when he knew he would help Bilbo anytime in anyway.

            But sadly, he was not in the area.

            “Bilbo,” Gandalf said. “I’m in Vienna at the moment—at a conference.”

            “Oh,” Bilbo said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

            “Nonsense!” Gandalf wouldn’t hear of bothering. “I’m just sorry I’m not there.” He didn’t want to think about it but he had to ask. “Bilbo, is this a crisis situation?” There was a pause on the other end that Gandalf didn’t like.

            “No,” Bilbo said softly. “Not really.”

            “You are many things, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said gruffly. “But a good liar isn’t one of them.”

            Bilbo laughed at that. “No, really. I made a promise and besides, I refuse to listen to that little voice anymore.”

            “Good,” Gandalf said. “Now, do you need to go to hospital?”

            “Oh, no,” Bilbo said. “It’s not that bad. I would like to chat with you.”

            “You shouldn’t be alone,” Gandalf said.

            “Well, right now, I have a friend sitting with me.”

            “I’m glad to hear that, but I was thinking more about this weekend. Can young Ori stay close?”

            “No, he’s going out of town,” Bilbo stated.

            “Could he be persuaded to stay?” Gandalf offered.

            “Probably, but I won’t ask that,” Bilbo said firmly.

            _Okay then._ “What about staying with a friend?” Gandalf wished he was there! It was maddening really.

            “I’ve already decided on that,” Bilbo replied.

            “Ah, excellent,” Gandalf was pleased. “Where are you staying then?”

            “I’m going to call Dori; see if he has a room available.”

            “That’s a wonderful idea. Get out of the city completely.” Suddenly, Gandalf’s phone began to vibrate; he had another call. He was loath to take it, but a glance at the number told he had better. “Bilbo, could you hold for a moment?”

            “Of course,” Bilbo said.

            Gandalf clicked over and answered the phone.

            “Good afternoon, Thorin,” Gandalf said.

            “Doctor Grey,” said the cool voice of the man’s sister. “It’s Dis Durin.”

            “In that case,” Gandalf said with a light laugh. “Hello, Ms. Durin.”

            “Hello. Look, I hate to cut the pleasantries short, but Thorin’s had quite an episode.”

            “Did he hurt himself or someone else?”

            “No, but something traumatic happened when he went out. He is refusing to talk about it but then again, he isn’t in much shape to make any sense.”

            “What do you mean?” Gandalf thought Dis said the man wasn’t injured.

            “He’s totally rat-arsed,” Dis said dryly.

            Gandalf nodded to himself—comfort in a bottle. Alcohol wasn’t the best idea in these cases, and yet that seemed to be first thing patients went for.

            “Can I assume you are there to prevent further consumption of his _liquid medication_?”

            “You assume correctly and I am trying to ply him with black coffee at the moment.”

            “Not too much,” Gandalf warned. “All that caffeine won’t be good right now either.”

            “Point taken.”

            “Does he need to go to hospital?”

            “I doubt he would go. It would be best if you could see him today, or even tomorrow—whatever you want to charge I will gladly pay for after-hours or weekends, Doctor.”

            “It’s not a matter of money, I’m afraid—I’m on the continent right now.”

            “Shit.”

            “I’m terribly sorry.”

            “No, no—not your fault. I know the Durin men like to think they are the center of the universe but reality is quite different—you aren’t at our beck and call.”

            “Let me check my schedule.” If there was one thing Gandalf really loved about these smartphones is that he could be on a call, check his schedule and make appointments all at once. _So clever these little devices._ “Ms. Durin, I have a one o’clock on Monday.”

            “That will have to do.”

            “In the meantime, can someone stay with him this weekend?”

            “I can do better; I’ll bring him home with me.”

            “Wonderful. If he has any more episodes, regardless of what he wants, take him to hospital or call for an ambulance.”

            “Understood.”

            “Feel free to call me anytime if you need me.”

            “Thank you, Doctor. He will see you Monday.”

            “See him then.”

            Gandalf disconnected that call and hoped that Bilbo was still on the line; he was.

            “My apologies, dear boy,” Gandalf said sincerely. “That was a client call.”

            “It’s all right,” Bilbo said politely. “I understand.”

            “Now, about going to Dori’s, when you call—”

            “It’s already done. While I was on hold, I used my friend’s phone and called him. Dori said to just come down, so I will head home, throw together a bag and take the train down there.”

            “Very good. Can I speak with your friend there?”

            “You want to speak with Bofur?”

            “Yes.”

            He heard the phone being passed to Bilbo’s friend.

            “Uhm—Hello?” Said a pleasant male voice.

            “Good afternoon, my good man.”

            “Same to you—uhm—doctor?”

            “I am indeed. Now, I take it you are good friends with Bilbo?”

            “Aye.”

            “Excellent. I don’t mean to intrude or assume but is there any way you can stick with Bilbo and make sure he gets on his train?”

            “Already have to planned, sir—don’t you worry, I’ll see him on that train.”

            Gandalf had to laugh when he heard Bilbo in the background, _“Oh for goodness sake, you two are insufferable!”_ If Bilbo Baggins was getting indignant and snarky, that could only mean he was feeling better; good.

            “Thank you, my boy. Could you put Bilbo back on?”

            The phone passed again. “I can’t believe you asked him to put me on the train like I was toddler!”

            Gandalf couldn’t resist. “Well, you are a tad short.”

            Another indignant huff. “Short?! I will have you know that at five-eight I’m the perfect height compared to many of the men of my family. You’re just too tall.”

            Gandalf smiled, he was so glad to have Bilbo in his life and he had every intention of keeping him there.

            “Be that as it may, I have one more request of you.”

            “What? You want to put a GPS tracker on me from now on?”

            “Hmmm—not a bad idea, but not today. No, I want you to call or text me when you arrive at Dori’s.”

            “Gandalf, it will be horribly early for you.”

            “I’m not going to ask again.”

            “Fine, it’s your sleep-time, who am I to say. I promise to call or text you.”

            “Good lad.”

            There was a pause before Bilbo said seriously, “Thank you Gandalf.”

            “There is no need to thank me for something I’m pleased to do, but you are welcome none the less. When do you plan on being back in town?”

            “Oh, I should be back Sunday night or Monday morning.”

            “I don’t get back myself until late on Sunday.” Gandalf thought for a moment. He had given his last free appointment to Durin on Monday but that was at one. “Bilbo, why not come see me at noon on Monday? We will have lunch and you can chat away.”

            “That sounds perfect.”

            “Good then, I will see you on Monday.”

            “See you then, Andy. And thank you again.”

            “Of course. And you call me if you need me; night or day.”

            “I will. Good-bye.”

            “Good-bye, old friend.”

            Gandalf sighed and put his phone away. He absolutely hated not being there for his patients. _Add that to the list of things I hate about going to conferences._

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Fundin decided that it was time to visit his youngest son. He was having a lazy day, although he heard that Dis and Thorin were off-sight at some meeting or other. God, he hoped they would get away and just go home. He appreciated hard work, he was a Durin after all, but between Balin, Gloin and that son of his, Gimli, they did enough for the rest of them!

            Give it a rest now and then, that was Fundin’s motto.

            As he walked up, he noticed that Carolyn was typing effortlessly on the computer. He was amazed at that woman—here it was almost three in the afternoon and she looked as fresh and bright as she did in this morning. Not that he was noticing her in the mornings mind you; he was just—noticing that’s all.

            Yes, best to just keep things professional.

            “Good afternoon, Carolyn,” Fundin said.

            “Same to you, Mister Farinson,” Carolyn said rather crisply.

            _Oh, dear._ Carolyn was very loyal to Dwalin; Fundin had no doubt that she held him as responsible as Balin for Dwalin’s displeasure.

            “Is my son in his office?” Fundin asked gently.

            “I believe so, sir,” Carolyn said, no looking up from her typing. “But he didn’t want to be disturbed this morning and he hasn’t told me any different this afternoon.”

            “Would you mind checking with him to see if he would see me?”           

            “I’m sorry, sir,” Carolyn said with a frosty tone. “But he made it very clear he didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone for any reason. But I can send him an email to contact you if you would like.” Carolyn looked at him now but merely cocked an eyebrow.

            Fundin had to hand it to his son. Carolyn was one protective woman—Fundin had no desire to upset her, but he would at least try again.

            “Is there nothing,” Fundin asked quietly, “that would entice you to interrupt him?”          

            There a ding behind him as the lift doors opened and a young man, who Fundin could only guess was Ori, walked out. _Very nice,_ Fundin thought, _Dwalin does have good taste._

“There’s something,” Carolyn quipped seeing Ori approach. With that, she buzzed into Dwalin’s office and told him that Ori was here.

            Fundin wasn’t going to miss his chance; he stepped forward and extended his hand. “You must be Ori,” he said with as much charm as he could sincerely lay on.

            “And you must be Dwalin’s father,” Ori said with an unreadable expression but at least Fundin was happy that the young man shook his hand.

            “How could you tell?” Fundin asked, perfectly aware of how.

            “Well,” Ori said with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow. “Except for the white beard and different color green eyes, Dwalin is the spitting image of you.”

            “You forgot the almost thirty-five year age difference,” Fundin said teasingly.

            “I didn’t forget it,” Ori said smoothly and clearly not intimidated in the least. “But seeing as you’re his dad, that would go without saying.”

            And that was Fundin put in his place. He had to admit, he liked Ori already. He could see why Dwalin was so expertly …. _managed_ , by the young artist. That was good; Dwalin needed a guy that quick and clever. Plus the fact Ori was very attractive didn’t hurt either.

            “Flirting with my boyfriend, dad?” Dwalin said as he leaned against the doorframe of his office.

            “Not flirting,” Fundin said. “Being cut down to size more like.” He turned and gave Ori a smile and noticed the young man blushing.

            “Good,” Dwalin said with a bit of an edge. “Saves me the trouble.”

            “Now, Dwalin,” his father said. “I never told Balin to do what he did.” Fundin wasn’t sure if Dwalin had mentioned anything to Ori or not.

            “He seemed to indicate that you authorized the background checks.”

            Okay, so Dwalin had mentioned it. “No. I told him to be discreet. He took it the wrong way.”

            “You should’ve known better,” Dwalin said, coming out of the office and closing the door. “You have to be specific with Balin or else he goes to the extreme!”

            “I never thought he would go to _that_ extreme,” Fundin said before turning to Ori. “I do want to apologize, Ori.”

            “It’s alright,” Ori said with a shrug, clearly a little more relaxed. “It’s not a big deal.”

            “It is,” Fundin stated. “And since I take it you two are leaving for the weekend?”  He looked from Ori to Dwalin and got a nod. “Then I would like to extend an invitation to dinner next week; Monday or Tuesday.”

            “You don’t have to do that, dad,” Dwain said coming over to stand next to Ori.

            “But I want to,” Fundin said sincerely. “And I know you two like your lunches together so I won’t suggest that.”

            “We’ll think about it,” Dwalin said.

            “We will,” Ori added. “Promise.”

            “Good,” Fundin said. _This is the way it_ should _have gone in the first place! Should have just done it myself._

            Just as Fundin was going to offer farewells, Balin came up from behind him.  “Oh good,” Balin said, obviously to Dwalin “You’re finally out of your office.”

            “Why,” Dwalin asked dryly. “Come to stab me in the back, Brutus?”

            Balin opened his mouth to comment but Fundin stopped him.

            “Balin,” Fundin said loudly to get his attention. “Since Ori is here too, now would be a good time to straighten things out.” He was not above embarrassing his son.

            Balin flushed a little but did nod and looked at Ori. “I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding, truly.”

            “Misunderstanding!” Dwalin shouted. “That was more than—”

            Fundin watched in amazement as Ori simply turned and with laid a single hand on Dwalin’s chest, stilling his son into silence. _Impressive._

“Misunderstanding is all it was,” Ori said softly and Dwalin seemed to relax slightly. Ori turned to Balin. “Apology accepted. Thank you.”

            As Dwalin and Ori said good-bye and went to the lift, Fundin was glad everything was settled now. Of course, he didn’t know Ori well enough yet, so he was unprepared. Just as the lift doors were about to close, Ori called out, “Oh, Balin.” The elder Fundinson turned around. “Just in case you wanted to do any more checking, however, Dwalin said he would be collecting plenty of my DNA this weekend.”

            Dwalin’s roaring laughter echoed out of the closing lift and it was all Fundin could do not to do the same. Carolyn had had to turn away, but Fundin could see her shoulders shaking. Balin, on the other hand, was as red as a tomato and he walked away stiffly, trying to remain as composed as possible.

            Fundin _really_ liked Ori!

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            It was a well known “secret” that there was a private area in Durin and Sons. On the topmost floor of their offices, right in the middle behind all the offices of the president, vice presidents, and senior partners, there was a private elevator that led up from the underground car park to a private waiting area. This was for those clients that demanded total discretion; celebrities, members of parliament, aristocracy, etc.

            Dis decided, once Thorin was able to stand with minimal assistance; she would take the private elevator and get herself and her brother to her home early. They never took off early so screw it; Dwalin was doing it today, so why not them? She had Jane bring her purse and coat to Thorin’s office and Harriet and Jane were told if anyone asked, Thorin and Dis were out at a business meeting and wouldn’t be back before the end of the day. Dis even called for one of the company limos to take them home.

            After going by Thorin’s, getting clothes and overnight necessities as well as his medications—the headed for Dis’; no one needed to know where Thorin was, although Dis sent a text to Dwalin to let him know.

            It goes without saying that her family was a bit surprised.

            “Mom!” Kili ran to her. “You’re home super early!” And then he saw she was not alone. “Uncle Thorin!” The thirteen-year-old launched himself at his uncle who was, blessedly, prepared.

            “Hey, mate,” Thorin said, giving his youngest nephew a hug and kissed the top of his head.

            “Let me go get Fili,” Kili said and rushed off to find his brother.

            “Welcome, stranger,” Vili said as he came up and gave Thorin a hug.

            “Thanks,” Thorin replied. He still wasn’t hundred percent but he was able to stand.

            “Thorin,” Dis said. “Why don’t you go lay down for bit?”

            “Yeah,” Vili added. “Dinner won’t be ready for hours.”

            “Not that hungry anyway,” Thorin said reaching for his bag.

            “Leave that,” Dis said. “And I bet you will hungry later. Go, now.”

            Thorin nodded. He knew that Dis was right and frankly, he wanted to just sleep. He got to the guest room before his nephews found him; he wanted to see them but not like this. He would sleep for a bit and wake up more coherent.

            He closed the guest room door and pulled the drapes. Removing his jacket, tie, and shirt, as well as his shoes, he lay on the bed and instantly sank into the pillow. His mind whirled a bit but sleep was gaining on him.

            Just as the darkness of sleep rose up, his mind replayed that night, almost three years before to the day, when he met the one being to walk into his life who still held Thorin in his grip.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

 **_THREE YEARS PRIOR –_ ** **_JULY 2010_ **

 

            Thorin sat in the leather armchair in his father’s study. It was quiet here and he could drink his ale in peace. The muffled sounds of the party – his party, seeped through the walls and the door but it was still only a soft muffle.

            No one could say the Durin’s didn’t know how to throw a party. Catered food, extra staff, hired musicians, expensive party favors and of course, a veritable who’s who of guests. Conversations flowed as easily as the alcohol and anyone that felt bored, felt so because of their own personality and certainly not for the atmosphere. Granted, many of the invited were clients and business associates, with the obligatory family members thrown in, but in Thrain’s eyes, even a birthday party was a time to mingle, make connections, talk some business and make more money.

            Thorin never had a problem with that. At least, he didn’t when he was younger. He had rubbed elbows with the offspring of politicians, business elite, and investors, even some from the entertainment industry. These _‘playmates’_ opened doors for him later in life, especially when he went to private schools and university. And his friends led him to other friends and then those other friend’s parents becoming connected to his parents and then the whole cycle would start over.

            After university, he had gone to work with his father and uncles – well, cousins really but whatever, in the family investment company. All those connections meant that at twenty-two, he walked into career with a client load that seasoned investment brokers would give their right arm for.

            He had it all really; a great job he was actually good at, good family—he had his sister and cousin anyway, money, looks, friends; anything and anyone he wanted he could get. Life was good, easy, and comfortable.

            That is, until the world he thought he knew came to an end.

            Oh well, he didn’t want to rehash 9/11 on his birthday. Tonight was for celebrating, and not just his thirty-sixth birthday, but the fact that he was about to ship out on his last deployment.

            His last deployment.   It had been a good run and he was more than glad to have served his country, honored to fight alongside the men and women in uniform. But the time had come to move on with his life. He wanted a life, a home of his own – not a room in his parent’s house, he wanted a partner.

            No. Correction, he wanted a husband.

            Thorin chuckled to himself. _Yeah, daddy will love that._

            Thrain had been appalled, disgusted really, when Thorin came out. Thrain believed it was all just a whim; _‘a choice.’_ Thorin tried to tell him that it wasn’t something someone woke up one morning and flipped a coin over, nor was it a fad or phase, for god’s sake!   Thrain threw words like _queer, poof_ or _faggots_ into conversations whenever he could. Every conservative news program, article or sound bite that blasted the _‘gay agenda’_ , he used to launch a whole tirade at Thorin. He belittled and bemoaned Thorin’s _‘life-style choice’_ which infuriated Thorin to no end—Thorin always pointing out that he didn’t have a lifestyle, he just had a life! But Thrain couldn’t – or wouldn’t, understand and continued to push any and all eligible women at Thorin whenever, and however he could; believing whole-heartedly that _‘the right girl’_ would be the ticket, _‘just fuck a woman and be normal.’_ He even went so far as to put in personal ads and Craigslist postings for women, all the while putting Thorin’s contact information. There were many disagreements, arguments, and fights until finally, after almost ten years, father and son had a very tenuous relationship at best.

            Suddenly the door to his father’s study burst open and in walked the one person who was always in his corner.

            “I am going to strangle our father!” Dis stormed over stood in front of Thorin with her arms crossed.

            Thorin worked very hard to suppress his smirk but it was pointless. “What did he do now?”

            “He let Kili – _Kili,_ his ten-year-old grandson, drink Scotch!”

            “Let me guess; because ‘real men’ drink Scotch and Kili might as well have some now.”

            “Exactly!” She threw her hands up in the air.

            “What did Kili do?”

            “He drank it of course! Then proceeded to throw up all over the dining room rug.”

            “Welcome to my world.” Thorin was so tired of hearing about what ‘real men’ did. “Christ, did you see the _‘lovely lady’_ he introduced me to tonight?”

            “You mean, Liddy Northaven?” Dis asked.

            “Yes,” Thorin confirmed.

            “She doesn’t have a brain cell in her head,” Dis commented with the air of someone who was overly blessed with brain cells. “The only thing smart about her is her taste in handbags!” That got them both laughing until near crying. “I just can’t believe that he still tries after all these years?!” Dis got an evil glint in her eye, “Maybe, you should just parade a hot new guy under his nose every week until he gives up.”

            Thorin smiled but shook his head negatively. “Because I want more, Dis.”

            “More?” Dis laughed. “What? You want to parade _two_ guys at once in front of him?”

            “No,” Thorin said, his face showing his sincerity. “I want a relationship, Dis. I want a husband and maybe a family someday.”

            Dis would have laughed if she had seen any other face than the one Thorin was wearing. She realized that it was not a game; Thorin was serious. “What happened to my brother who shunned settling down or finding someone?”

            “It’s been a good philosophy while in the army.” Thorin’s voice had gotten quiet and he looked at the wall in contemplation. “It’s unfair to have a partner sit at home while I went off to maybe die in some foreign land. But I am going to be out within a year, Dis; I want a life, I want a home. I want what you have.” Thorin took another drink and looked at this lap before adding in a heavy whisper, “I wish dad would just stop. It’s really getting hurtful.”

            Thorin didn’t often show a vulnerable side. Few would even think he had one, let alone see it. But here with Dis, he had no fear to show it – and he felt that of all his family and relations, Dis would be the last one to judge him for it. She would understand. Clearly sensing his pain, Dis did the one thing she was really good at; steering a conversation back into happier waters. She walked over to the drink’s cabinet and poured herself a martini.    

            “Well, forget Daddy,” Dis said turning back around; holding her glass high in the air. “Here’s to my wonderful and fabulous, big brother; Happy Birthday!”

            Thorin smiled and felt warmth in his cheeks. Dis could be a hard-ass at time – most times, but she was nothing if she not loyal and true.

            “Thank you,” Thorin said. “And here’s to my favorite baby sister.” He held up the bottle in his hand before taking a healthy swig.

            “I’m your only sister, you prat!”

            “I don’t know,” Thorin put on a mocking look of seriousness, “Remember when Frerin dressed up in mom’s clothes and pretend to be Patsy Stone, from Ab Fab?” That brought another round of uproarious laughter from Dis.

            “He was only sixteen, and it was Halloween!” Dis said, continuing to laugh. “You can’t hold that against him.”

            “I don’t know,” Thorin said and they both laughed at the thought.

            But it didn’t last. Just thinking about Frerin hurt. _He should be here with us now,_ Thorin thought, _He should be here celebrating with me._

            “So,” Dis said, turning the conversation back to Thorin. “What are your big plans for tonight?’ She gave him a rather lascivious wink.

            “Not what you think.” Thorin looked at his watch. “In fact, I’m going miss my train if I don’t head out now.” He stood up and started patting his pockets to check for keys, wallet and money clip.

            “Train to where?” Dis was perplexed.

            “Brighton.”

            “Brighton? Are you mad?! Thorin, forgetting that it’s a Friday night _and_ your birthday; you leave on your last deployment on Tuesday – one would think that alone would keep you here in London to celebrate all weekend?”

            “One would think,” Thorin said, amused at his sister’s horror. “But really, I just want to get away and have the weekend to relax before I ship out.”

            Dis sighed. Both knew that if Dis wanted him to stay that she would only have to ask and he would do it. Yet, they were also aware that Thorin rarely thought of himself. He had gone into the military against their father’s wishes and astonishment because he felt it was the right thing to do and stayed for the same reason. If Thorin needed to get away, Dis would be the first person to push him out the door and defend him to anyone that questioned him.

            “Well,” Dis said, following Thorin out the door to the foyer. “Will we see you before you leave on Tuesday?”

            Thorin already had his duffel bag in the entry hall. “I should be back Monday night.” He straightened his uniform and put his hat on. He knew what she meant by her question when he turned and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you or the boys.”

            She returned the kiss and gave him a hug. “Be safe and behave.” A smirk spread across her face. “And, if you can’t behave –”

            “Name the baby after me.” Thorin and Dis finished the old saying together. It was almost a standard for them. It was corny and ridiculous and neither of them would change it for the world.

            Thorin gave her another tight hug. “Make my apologies to everyone, but don’t say where I’ve gone. Tell them I’m at the base or something.” That meant one thing; he was avoiding their father. Dis understood perfectly.

            “See you on Monday, darling,” Dis replied, as Thorin opened the door and went out into the night.

            Thorin got to Victoria station with plenty of time and boarded to an empty car. Storing his duffel bag overhead, he slumped down in the window seat, leaned against the window and pulled his hat over his eyes. He figured he would nap on the train, get a taxi to the hotel and then grab a late supper.

            From the sounds, the car was filling up fast but no one was taking the seats facing him. He wasn’t really surprised. While he wouldn’t say it gave him pleasure, he found that when most saw him in his uniform, sitting alone, especially when he looked like he was sleeping, others took every seat before ‘bothering’ him to sit near him. He wasn’t sure whether it was respect for the uniform or fear. He admired the first reason and cringed at the second but right now, he was sort of glad. The party had been draining – correction, his father’s attempts at matchmaking had been draining, and all he wanted was to sleep in peace.

            Finally, he heard them announce last call and suddenly felt a presence near him.

            “Excuse me,” said a male voice. “Are the seats facing you taken?”

            The voice was soft and polite; not the least bit unpleasant Thorin noted. “They’re all yours,” Thorin replied, not moving or lifting his hat.

            He could hear the guy move into the seat and sounds of him settling; the soft thump of a bag placed on one of the seats, a jacket being taken off, then the guy sitting down. Next, there was a snap – the guy was getting something out his bag, and then silence.

            The train lurched forward and they were moving.

            The first several minutes there were sounds all around him. Thorin picked up the tiny bits here and there; kids excited about meeting up with their father, a young couple playfully bickering with each other, a group of older ladies laughing and giggling to themselves – one in their group had gotten a new tablet or other and the rest were commenting on the state of the world and technology and all that. Thorin and the guy across from him were the only two silent ones during this whole time.

            _No, not completely silent,_ Thorin thought, as he heard the soft scraping sound of paper on paper, _a page being turned; the guy’s reading._

            Finally, the lady with the tablet, announced to her friends – well the whole car really as she was apparently more than a little hard of hearing - that she was going to listen to music. She was obviously unfamiliar with technology as well, because music suddenly filled the car which brought all other voices to a stop. It was some opera piece that Thorin had zero clue as to the name of, but in his opinion, it sounded like a couple of cats.

            ”What the hell are we listening to?” Thorin said in a loud whisper. The situation was laughable but he honestly hadn’t meant to say anything out loud, it just slipped out. He certainly didn’t expect an answer.

            There was a bright giggle from the guy across from him, before he whispered back to Thorin, “It’s The Flower Duet, from the opera Lakme.”

            That got Thorin’s attention. He pushed the brim of hat up to get a look at the guy and froze.

            The guy was fucking cute. _No, no—not cute, beautiful_. Thorin quickly took in the wavy mop of honey-blond hair; it was near riotous but still neat and trim. The guy wore round Windsor glasses and had hazel-green eyes with smooth pale skin that looked flawless; not a blemish to be seen.

            The guy dressed like a modern Edwardian gentleman with a crisp white shirt, red waistcoat, and red tartan bow tie. Thorin would have found the outfit ridiculous on anyone else, yet this guy wore it well; _really well._

            The guy must have felt Thorin staring because he slowly raised his head from the book in his lap and locked eyes with him. The guy's eyes widened just a tad, but he didn’t break the connection; in fact, a slight blush was spreading across his cheeks – something else that made Thorin’s blood heat.

            Thorin removed his hat and sat up straight. He felt a small but soppy smile form on his face and he received a shy grin in return.

            “Uhm ... thanks for the music lesson,” Thorin said, willing himself to speak.

            The guy looked down for second, smiling, before looking back and answering with a teasing, mocking look of indignation. “Well, I couldn’t let you live life and not know The Flower Duet.”

            Thorin chuckled and put out his best smile. “You know what else I can’t live without,” Thorin quipped, noting the questioning look on the guy’s face. “Your name.”

            That got the guy blushing full on and Thorin noted, with much pleasure, that even the guy’s ears turned bright red.

            Thorin figured that he would just take charge. “I’m Thorin,” he said, extending a meaty hand to the guy. “Thorin Durin ... at your service.”

            The sweetest smile Thorin had ever seen lit the guy’s face as he took Thorin’s hand, and his breath away. “Bilbo Baggins ... at yours.”

            “So, tell me Mister Baggins,” Thorin said, holding eye contact with Bilbo. “What takes you to Brighton?”

            “Home,” Bilbo said, closing his book and crossing his hands in his lap. “I’ve been teaching at Brighton University but recently got a job offer with a magazine in London.”

            “You’re a professor.” Thorin could easily see Bilbo as a professor; especially now that he saw the tweed jacket Bilbo had folded on the seat next to him. _I wonder if he teaches sex-ed,_ Thorin thought. “What do you teach?”

            “Creative Writing,” Bilbo answered. “And Nineteenth-Century Literature.”

            “Guess that would explain the Jane Austen in your lap.”

            “She’s my favorite author.”

            “Better than Poe, I would imagine.”

            “Not necessarily. One really can’t really compare the two.  And Poe offers many things that Austen cannot.”

            “Yeah ... like scaring the bloody hell out of you.” Thorin said with a theatrical grimace that earned a bright laugh from Bilbo. _Oh damn,_ Thorin thought, _must remember to make him laugh like that again – it’s lovely._

            What amazed Thorin was that the conversation continued to flow naturally, it never dulled and he took as many opportunities to make Bilbo laugh or giggle as he could. It was easy and light and Thorin marveled at the relaxed, almost effortless, way in which they communicated. They were both on the same page on many subjects, especially politics and social issues, and yet, both made points that the other had not thought of.

            They had similar likes and yet respected the differences. They both loved and appreciated music, but while Bilbo gravitated to classical, opera and some R&B, Thorin trended to rock, hip-hop, and jazz. Both like history, but Bilbo enjoyed the past, while Thorin liked the modern era. Food was another area, but here they tastes were almost in perfect sync; Italian and Thai were both favorites they shared and neither cared for Chinese or shellfish.

            Even areas that they didn’t agree, they complimented each other. Thorin liked to drive, Bilbo liked being a passenger. Thorin hated parties, Bilbo loved to host. Thorin hates surprises, Bilbo relished them. Thorin liked tailored, modern clothes, Bilbo had a more classic dress sense – in this area, Thorin had to admit, if just to himself, he wouldn’t want Bilbo dressed any other way; the tweed jacket, waistcoat, and bow tie suited Bilbo perfectly – why change perfection.

            As the time slipped by, Thorin felt the connection between them grow stronger. He couldn’t explain it, and frankly, he didn’t care.   For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to analyze and look into the reasons or causes, he didn’t want to dissect and exam it. He felt weightless, as if floating on a stream and letting the current take him wherever, but at the same time, he had never felt so grounded, so sure about anyone in his life. Bilbo Baggins was perfect; a sweet, kind, and gentle soul, and for all their differences, they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.   They were opposite sides of the same coin and yet, dare he think it—It was crazy right?—two halves of a whole?

            Was such a thought too early? It was crazy! But Thorin pushed it away. All he knew was that when this train ride was over, he wasn’t letting Bilbo Baggins walk away.

            Of course, there was one tiny, nagging little fear still to conquer.

            “So, Mister Baggins—,” Thorin started but was stopped when Bilbo held up a hand.

            “Please,” Bilbo said, reaching over and touching Thorin’s forearm for just a moment. “Just Bilbo.”

            Even though it was through his uniform jacket and the touch was brief, Thorin felt a zing move up his arm; he almost shivered. “Bilbo,” Thorin repeated, letting the name, which felt so right, roll off his tongue. “Will there be someone waiting for you at the station or back home?” Thorin hated asking but he couldn’t deny that if there was someone, disappointment wouldn’t be sufficient to describe his feelings.

            But Bilbo gave a little laugh. “Unless you count my seventy-eight Mark IV, there is no one waiting for me.” Bilbo had small smile on his face but it seemed a bit fragile. “I am not usually seen as relationship material. Too dull I’m afraid.”

            Thorin doubted that last statement completely.

            “What about you, Thorin?” Bilbo asked, quietly. “Is there someone waiting for you in Brighton? Or back home in London?” While Bilbo had a smile on his face, Thorin thought it was tainted by something – was it pain?

            Thorin had to wonder; had Bilbo, met other men that only viewed him as someone to use and discard? Maybe someone with a hidden life who only wanted a roll in the sack before announcing that they were going back to a wife, or girlfriend or someone that simply wasn’t Bilbo? The thought made him sick.

            Now was not the time for some glib answer. “No, Bilbo,” Thorin said gently. “There has been no one in my life ... up to now.” Thorin hoped that the answer was clear and he was glad to see Bilbo’s smile brighten and a pale pink blush colored his cheeks.

            They both sat for a minute, letting so much pass between them that really didn’t need words.

            “Would you like –,” they both said at the same time, which lead to them both laughing out loud,

            “To have dinner?” Thorin finished the mutual question.

            “I’d love to,” Bilbo answered.

            As the train came to a stop, they both stood and gathered their things. Bilbo began prattling on about his messy car and to please not hold that against him. Thorin on the other hand merely listened to Bilbo’s voice, drinking in the melodious sound of it. Thorin could honestly say that he had never been so happy to have been interrupted on a train in his whole life.

 

 

_**BILBO'S CAR - AUSTIN MARTIN MARK IV** _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR THOSE LOOKING FOR THE "INTIMATE SCENE" BETWEEN DWALIN AND ORI - THAT IS COMING NEXT AS IT'S OWN CHAPTER. NOT ONLY HAS THIS CHAPTER GROWN TO HUGE PROPORTIONS, BUT I FELT A SEX SCENE AT THE END WOULD TAKE AWAY FROM THE FLASHBACK.
> 
> STAY TUNED - SMUTTY, SEXY-TIMES ARE COMING (for those that want it)


	8. FRIDAY - Dwalin and Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their time has come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PROMISED SEX SCENE BETWEEN DWALIN AND ORI IS AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. 
> 
> I would also love to add that this story takes place in a fantasy world were STDs don't exist. but in the real world, HIV and the likes are very real things. IF YOU'RE GOING TO PLAY - PLAY HARD - BUT PLAY SAFE.

* * *

 

            _A quick stop at Ori’s to pick up his bag and we can be off,_ Dwalin thought. Of course, it was the perfect opportunity to see where the one he loved lived as well.

            Love.

            It was a magical word. One only had to say it and the world changed; the sun was warmer, the stars shined brighter, the air smelled sweeter, everything tasted better—it was wondrous.

            Okay, so Dwalin knew he was being a total sap but fuck it. He had Ori by his side and they felt the same, they both wanted this. Maybe that word didn’t actually change anything around them but as far as Dwalin was concern it did and that is all that mattered.

            They pulled up to Ori’s building and just as they were getting out, Ori’s phone buzzed.

            “It’s from Bilbo,” Ori said, pausing to look at the screen and sighed. “He’s okay. He’s with Bofur.”

            “Who’s Bofur?” Dwalin hadn’t heard that one before.

            “Old family friend,” Ori said, heading up the stairs and into the building. “He was actually friends with Nori when I was a kid; before I even knew Bilbo.”

            “So he was Nori’s childhood friend?” Dwalin continued as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. “How does Bilbo know him then?”

            “Actually,” Ori said, “Nori and Bofur stayed friends into adulthood. Bofur went to work for the Ministry of Defense and when Nori entered the army, somehow Bofur pulled strings or dropped his name or something, so that’s how Nori got assigned there, at least I think so. It was all very confusing.”

            “I see,” Dwalin stated. “So Bilbo remained in contact with Bofur.”

            “We both have really,” Ori confirmed. “But I haven’t seen him for a while now. I have no idea how Bilbo ended up with Bofur today.”

            “Well,” Dwalin added, “I guess it’s a good thing he’s not alone.”

            “You have no idea how right you are,” Ori said quietly.

            “What do you mean?” Dwalin asked.

            Ori turned around at the top of the stairs to look directly at Dwalin. “I can’t say, but with the way Bilbo is feeling, he shouldn’t be alone.”

            Dwalin didn’t like the sound of that but, it wasn’t his place to push so he let it go.

            Ori and Bilbo’s apartment was at the end of the third floor hall, facing the street out front. It was a beautiful old building and Dwalin easily admired the place. It wasn’t restored to the point of being characterless like some of the buildings in London but there wasn’t peeling paint or a musty smell lingering in the hallway. It was solid and felt safe.

            “Can you give me a minute to just clean up and change?” Ori asked as he opened the door and let Dwalin in.

            “Sure, babe,” Dwalin said casually. “Take your time—we aren’t in a rush.”

            “Maybe you’re not,” Ori purred in Dwalin’s ear as he gave him a kiss.

            Dwalin smiled. It was nice, this feeling he had and he wanted to relish it—every moment of it.

            Ori disappeared into his room and Dwalin was left to look around. Everything was clean and fresh looking; he was reminded of that ‘Shabby Chic’ look, but this was minus the shabby part. The pedestal dining table was walnut colored wood, while the chairs were French ladder-backs painted in bright white. In the middle of the table was a huge white ceramic bowl filled with fresh fruit. In the living room, the couch was an overstuff style in red fabric while the chairs where covered in floral chintz. The walls had been painted a pale yellow and all the picture frames, while difference styles, were all painted the same bright white as the dining room chairs. Even Dwalin could see that the embroidered pillows on the couch were hand done, not store bought.

            “You have a nice place here,” Dwalin called out as he heard Ori opening and closing drawers; packing. It wasn’t Dwalin’s style, but he could appreciate it.

            “That’s all Bilbo out there,” Ori called back with a little laugh. “I prefer cleaner lines myself but he likes to feel cozy.”

            “It’s that all right,” Dwalin called back as he heard the zing of a zipper. _Must have closed his bag,_ Dwalin thought and sure enough he turned in time to see a soft gym bag land at the threshold of Ori’s room where it had been tossed. Dwalin heard a door shut and assumed it was Ori going into his bathroom. Sure enough, the sound of the shower soon followed.

            The kitchen was neat and tidy and from what Ori had told him of Bilbo’s love of cooking, he was not surprised.   There were canisters of tea and a French press in one corner. There was a retro style mixer standing by the stove and there was _lots_ of cooking utensils in open crocks everywhere. Dwalin had to wonder just how many whisks, wooden spoons, knives, ladles and so forth did one person really need? But then he could barely boil water so he reminded himself that he was out of league here.

            Finally, Dwalin decided that since there was no reason not to, so he walked over to Ori’s bedroom. He could see that Ori was indeed correct as his bedroom furniture was a more modern design than the rest of the house. However, there were clothes everywhere and a huge drafting/drawing table in one corner.

            It was there that something caught his eye.

            Dwalin walked over and his eyes focused on five drawings tacked up on the board above the table. They were of him. There was one of Dwalin in a suit, sitting on the edge of a desk. In the second, he was dressed in a policeman’s uniform, leaning up against the front fender of a police car. In another, he was a knight of the Knight’s Templar, riding a large grey horse. And then there was one of him in an outfit similar to the jeans and jumper that we had worn on Wednesday, sitting on a bale of hay in a barn with the door open.

            But it was the last one that really got his attention. It was definitely him but he was dressed as some sort of warrior. He was striding up a rocky incline, wearing heavy boots and what looked like a kilt with a wide, leather belt. He was naked form the waist up except for thick leather wristbands. His arms and chest, even his head, bore tattoos that were geometric in design. In each hand he held a lethal looking axe which made his arms bulge. The beard was just a bit longer and fuller but it was the Mohawk that really impressed him. His face was in a snarl; as if growling out a battle cry, and the eyes seemed to burn with a murderous look he had seen himself on men in battle.

            _Fuck! I look good!_ Dwalin thought and laughed to himself.

            Dwalin felt a funny sort of tingling sensation all over. _Was this how Ori saw me? And when exactly had he done these?_ Obviously the one of him in the barn was after their make-up on Wednesday but what of the others? Because the barn picture definitely looked like it was on top, or was the latest one. He could be wrong, but ….

            “Okay,” Ori said quietly to himself as he came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. “Just need to—” Ori came to a full stop when he saw Dwalin standing there.

            For a second, Dwalin was completely mesmerized. Ori wasn’t overtly muscular like Dwalin but he wasn’t skin and bones either; he had one of those slim, lithe bodies of someone who did field and track. Pale skin with a pink tinge from the hot shower, and his dark auburn hair hung wet and flat. His chest had pale, copper-colored hair in a loose diamond in the center, a little around each nipple, and an inverted spike of hair that ran from the breastbone and down his stomach, widening as it went lower and around Ori’s navel.

            _Holy mother, fucking, shit_ —Dwalin had to close his eyes and simply breathed.

            “Are you okay?” Ori cooed from somewhere _way too close_ for comfort.

            Dwalin just nodded and continued to breathe.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Just ... just having some impure thoughts,” Dwalin whispered hoarsely. _Please don’t touch me or else we aren’t making it to_ _Windsor_ _._ Lucky for him, Ori didn’t touch him.

            “Would you like me to put something on?” Ori whispered.

            _He’s teasing me, and he’s fucking enjoying it, the little shit,_ Dwalin thought but he wouldn’t say that was a bad thing. “That would—” Dwalin had to clear his throat. “That would be best.”

            “Better keep your eyes closed, then” Ori said softly as the sound of the towel falling to the floor seemed to fill the room.

            Dwalin breathed and tried to think of killer bunnies or rabid puppies or even flesh eating kittens—fucking _anything_ but Ori naked and within arms reach! _You’re a grown man, Fundinson, fucking act like one and keep it together._ Of course, the greedy little boy inside of him said, _But I don’t wanna!_

Dwalin slowly opened his eyes as he felt Ori’s arms slowly wrap around his neck. He looked down and Ori was wearing black jeans with what looked like black high-top trainers and a pale pink polo shirt. His hair wasn’t done yet but it looked toweled dried.

            “Is this less tempting?” Ori said giving Dwalin as innocent an expression as possible. Of course, Dwalin was perfectly aware that the meaning behind the phrase was far form innocent.

            “Less distracting let’s say,” Dwalin responded as he pulled Ori into a deep kiss that definitely spoke of things that were far from innocent.

            As Dwalin wrapped his arms around Ori’s waist, he couldn’t resist slowly lowering a hand so that he was able to grip of one of Ori’s buttocks and give it a firm squeeze. The moan from his love was well worth it to Dwalin.

            As the kiss began to become more than just a kiss, Dwalin pulled back reluctantly. He wanted this; he wanted it very badly but not here, not this way.

            Ori gave out a little whimper as they pulled apart. “You’re a tease,” Ori pouted adorably.

            “I’m a tease?!” Dwalin mugged. “You wander out in a naught but a towel, and I’m the tease?”

            “I didn’t know you would be stalking me in my bedroom.”

            “I wasn’t stalking, I strolled in.”

            “Trying to cop a look more like.”

            “No—honest, I was just checking out your artwork.”

            At that, Ori’s eyes got amusing huge and Dwalin couldn’t help but smirk as a blush brightened over Ori’s cheeks.

            “I love them all,” Dwalin said casually, as if he didn’t know how embarrassed Ori was. “But I am particularly interested in the Mohawk.”

            Ori closed his eyes and sighed before opening them. “You weren’t supposed to see those—should have locked my door.”

            Dwalin had to laugh. “Why didn’t you want me to see?” He released Ori and the both turned to look at the pictures. Really, despite the fact they were of him, Dwalin could totally appreciate Ori’s work for its artistic measures; he was far from an art person, but even he could tell they were good, really good! _My baby’s got talent!_

Ori just stood there and after a minute, Dwalin moved behind him and slipped his arms around his waist again and settled his chin on one shoulder, holding Ori close. Ori reached up with one hand and gently ran it over the top of Dwalin’s head.

            “From that first time I met you,” Ori said quietly. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind, so I let my mind take me where it wanted to go.”

            “I’m flattered, truly,” Dwalin said then turned his face to kiss the inside of Ori’s wrist.

            “You aren’t upset?” Ori asked shyly.

            “Hardly,” Dwalin replied, this time he turned his head to kiss Ori’s neck.

            The response was immediate as Ori twisted in his arms and kissed full on the mouth. There was heat and passion; Dwalin was once again reminded that if he let this go much further they would end up having sex here on Ori’s messy bed; that wouldn’t do. With reluctance, Dwalin placed his hands on Ori’s hips and slowly pulled them apart.

            Ori didn’t whine this time, just took a deep breath to calm himself.

            “Let’s get outta here,” Dwalin said as he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Ori’s cheek.

            “Agreed,” Ori said hoarsely as he gently ran a hand down Dwalin’s arm.

            Ori nipped back into the bathroom, combed his hair into something presentable. As he came back out, Dwalin walked over and picked up Ori’s bag, while Ori retrieved his keys and wallet from his messenger bag. They reserved their steps and as they were exiting the building, Dwalin’s phone chirped with a new text message. Once Ori’s bag was in the boot, Dwalin pulled out his cell phone as the both settled into the car.

            “It’s from Dis,” Dwalin said as he handed it over to Ori to see.

            Ori looked at the screen before reading it out loud. “ ** _Thorin w me – BUO_** ,” Ori said. “What does B.U.O. stand for?”

            “Between us only,” Dwalin said as the car top came down and he pulled into traffic. “That means, if anyone contacts us or asks where Thorin is, our answer is we don’t know.” When Ori looked perplexed, Dwalin clarified. “We use that code to keep others from finding anything out.”

            “That sounds rather clandestine,” Ori quipped.

            Dwalin smiled. “Well, it might have started that way,” he confirmed. “But really we use it now, mostly, for keeping Thorin and Thrain apart. Thorin likes to take off and not be bothered by his father.”

            “Is their relationship that bad?” Ori asked.

            “You have no idea, love,” Dwalin said but didn’t elaborate.

            The drive through the city wasn’t too bad, it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either. Dwalin was glad they had left a little early and with the top down and Ori beside him, the day was perfect. Oh sure, they got a couple of honks and waves from a few lorry drives who went by and noticed their arms linked around each other and holding hands but it was all in good fun; it certainly didn’t keep Dwalin from relishing Ori’s hand in his own.

            They traveled for a bit without talking, just enjoying each other’s company. But Ori didn’t stay silent for long.

            “So, tell me,” Ori asked leaning a little against Dwalin’s shoulder. “What’s the deal with all the different last names?”

            Dwalin laughed. “I was wondering when you would ask.”

            “You have to admit, it’s odd.”

            “It all started with my grandfather, Farin,” Dwalin conceded. “He had a falling out with my great-great-grandfather, Nain. Although neither ever said what the feud was about, we’re pretty sure it was about the running of the family company. But whatever the reason, Farin was so angry he broke away from the family, started his own investment firm and stated he wanted nothing to do with Nain or the direct line of Durin. He went as far to change his last name and revive the old custom of taking the father’s first name, as the last.”

            “And that’s why,” Ori said, understanding. “Your last name is Fundinson, and your father, Fundin, has Farinson as his last.”

            “Correct,” Dwalin stated. “Now, after Nain died and Farin got older, Thror—that’s Thorin’s grandfather and Farin’s first cousin—enticed Farin to merger his smaller company with Durin Investments. The new company became Durin and Sons and the family was reunited. However, while the direct descendants still use Durin, Farin’s side continues to use their father’s first name as their last.”

            “Goodness,” Ori said with a smile and shake of his head. “All that over an argument three generations ago; your family is stubborn.”

            Dwalin laughed again. “Do you want me to change?”

            “Hell no,” Ori said immediately. “I was merely commenting, not criticizing. I love you just the way you are.”

            “A gruff, cranky, stubborn, old bastard?” Dwalin quipped.

            “Exactly,” Ori said sweetly as if that was totally perfection in his mind. Maybe it was. But Ori wasn’t done with his questions.

            “Now, what about Dis?” Ori inquired. “She’s married and her boys have her last name, if I am not mistaken. How does that work?”

            “When she and Vili married,” Dwalin answered, “he was perfectly fine with Dis keeping her name—apparently he felt that marrying him didn’t mean she had to lose her identity.”

            “Wow,” Ori was impressed. “Good on him!”

            “He’s very supportive of Dis,” Dwalin said with a tone of satisfaction. “When the boys came along, he was fine with giving them her last name—again, he understood that the Durin name carries a great deal of door-opening potential.”

            “Well,” Ori said with a quick grimace. “It could also open them up to problems too.”

            “Oh, it has,” Dwalin confirmed. “Remember that is why they’re home-schooled.”         

            “Oh, yeah,” Ori remember Dwalin mentioning that the other day.

            “But,” Dwalin countered. “There are more perks to being a Durin than not.” Ori nodded but didn’t respond. “Not just with schools and universities—especially where we are alumni—but also with future jobs and clients, etc. There will always be those that gravitate towards the Durin name.”

            “Has your family,” Ori asked, “ever considered going back to using the Durin name?”

            “Funny you should ask,” Dwalin said. “Both my dad and Uncle Groin have encouraged Balin, Gloin and I to give any children we may have the Durin name. That’s why Gimli already bears the Durin name.”

            “I see,” Ori continued. “So, if you or Balin were to have any children, you would give them Durin as a last name?”

            “Yes,” Dwalin said, perfectly aware of where the conversation was headed.

            Ori was quiet for several minutes after that, and Dwalin merely smiled to himself while he waited for the enviable question to be asked.

            Finally, Ori drew a breath and asked, “So, do you— _like_ children?”

            Dwalin worked very hard not to laugh. Not because he found it funny, but because his guess was spot-on. “I do. I do like children.”

            Ori nodded but just looked off, not looking at Dwalin, who was again, biting his lips. Dwalin knew it was his turn, and he no intention of disappointing Ori, but he thought he would stretch it out a bit. Finally after what he was sure was an excruciatingly long wait for Ori, Dwalin broke down and asked his side of the question.

            “What about you,” Dwalin asked, keeping it casual. “Do you like children?”

            “Oh, yes,” Ori answered very quickly which pulled a toothy smile from Dwalin. “I like children very much.”

            Dwalin simply nodded he heard and Ori did the same but huffed out a sigh. Dwalin wanted to laugh out so very badly but he kept it in. Ori was just too fucking cute and Dwalin had every intention of having this discussion with him—but not today, not this weekend, not for a while. No, as much as he knew what he wanted, and knew he wanted it with Ori, now was just not the time for it. It was not only way too early in the relationship, but he wanted them to have time for themselves, to be together, just them, before talk turned to hopes and dreams of family. _Bloody hell, we haven’t even talked about moving in yet!_ Dwalin told himself. Not that he didn’t want Ori living with him or hadn’t already thought about it; oh no, he wanted that too—very much so. But he would not make the mistake of scaring Ori—

            Sudden realization hit Dwalin and he felt his mouth go dry. _Scaring Ori._ Oh crap, he hadn’t really explained about the Windsor house, had he?

            Dwalin turned to speak, but saw that Ori had laid his head on Dwalin’s shoulder and was apparently asleep. Dwalin was at a loss; should he wake Ori and tell him before hand or let him be? Dwalin decided to let his love sleep— _If he needs sleep, let him have it_ —but he would just have to prepare himself in the off chance that Ori slept until they pulled up in front of the house itself.

            As luck would have, or as it ran out—Dwalin wasn’t sure which, Ori did in fact sleep right up to the point where Dwalin stopped in front of the house. Ori sat up and rolled his heck before taking a deep breath and opening his eyes.

            “Are we here?” Ori asked blinking up at the house.

            “Yeah,” Dwalin said quietly as he slowly got out of the car.

            Ori got out as well and stretched. He looked again at the house; a large Elizabethean style, three-story house made of grey stone. Ori just stood there and Dwalin was slowly becoming nervous as the auburn-haired man said nothing.

            “This,” Ori said quietly, “is a bit more than I expected.”

 

**_SANDHOE HALL - A 19TH CENTURY COUNTRY ESTATE - BASIS FOR DWALIN'S FAMILY HOME._ **

 

            Dwalin waited—he knew Ori would have to turn and he knew what was coming. Sure enough, when Dwalin didn’t answer, Ori turned around and his eyes-widened. Ori stared at where they had driven from, then to Dwalin, back to again, and then Ori’s head turned sharply to the other side.

            _He’s looking to see if ‘the road’ goes on,_ Dwalin thought.

            “Dwalin,” Ori asked softly as he pointed the way they came in. “That road—”

            “It isn’t a road,” Dwalin confirmed, licking his lips because his mouth was quite dry. “That’s the drive.”

            Ori’s eyes widened a bit more. “ _The drive_? I can barely see the end of it!  This isn’t a house, this is an estate.”

            “It _was_ an estate,” Dwalin countered. “Most of the land has been sold off.”

            “How much is left?” Ori asked looking around.

            Dwalin hesitated for a minute. _He’s going to find out one way or another._ “About forty-three acres.”

            Ori just nodded and turned back to look at the house. Dwalin closed his door, retrieved the luggage from the boot and then walked over to close Ori’s door. Ori hadn’t moved; he just stood there, looking at the façade of the house.

            “Are you okay?” Dwalin whispered in Ori’s ear.

            Ori was silent a few moments before answering, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

            “You’re sure?” Dwalin wanted Ori to be comfortable, but he feared it might be too late.

            However, Ori surprised him.

            Ori turned and wrapped his arms around Dwalin’s waist before planting a kiss on the larger man’s cheek. “It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a big house to scare me away at this point.”

            Dwalin smiled in relief, but wondered if Ori really meant it. Shaking it off, Dwalin returned Ori’s kiss with one of his own, capturing Ori’s lips with his. “Come on,” Dwalin said with a smile. “Let’s get inside.”

            Dwalin gave a quick run down of the house; originally ten bedrooms, two of the bedrooms were converted to bathrooms during the 70’s and it was now 8 bedroom, 6 bathroom, but numerous rooms like a sitting room on each floor, a billard room, library and a smoking room that had been converted to study/office. The furniture and decorations were surprisingly up to date in the most used rooms of the house, but many of the guest rooms retained their original nineteenth-century furnishings.

            It was in the library that Ori saw two large oil paintings of two different couples.

            “Who are they?” Ori asked as the approached the first painting.

            “My grandparents; Farin and Runa,” Dwalin said coming to stand behind Ori and wrap him in his arms.

            Ori looked over the stern, unsmiling couple. “Kind of … intense looking.”

            Dwalin laughed. “They could be, but what you’re seeing is just the picture; Grandma Runa spoiled us. Well, me anyway.”

            Ori giggled. “I wonder why?” Ori looked at the other painting and thought he knew who they were. “Are those your parents?”

            “Yes,” Dwalin confirmed.

            Ori could see Fundin had truly looked unnervingly like Dwalin when he was younger, what with his baldhead and full, dark beard. But it was the woman next to him that caught Ori’s attention. Dwalin’s mother was a petite beauty that, judging from the painting, would have been about a few centimeters shorter than Ori, if the perceptive of the painting was accurate. She had auburn hair and pale skin with brown eyes that seemed to warm the viewer just by looking at them. Suddenly, Ori made a rather startling connection.

            “Your mother,” Ori said, looking between the painting and Dwalin. “She looks a bit like—”

            “Like you,” Dwalin said softly.

            They weren’t exactly alike; Ori had an oval face while Dwalin’s mother’s was heart-shaped. They had different shape mouths as well as eyes, and while Ori was slim and lithe, Dwalin’s mother was small boned and delicate looking. Even the hair as slightly different, Ori’s was darker and more copper while Dwalin’s mother appeared lighter with golden highlights. But the basic elements; hair and eye color, skin tone, were close matches.

            Ori wasn’t put off by the similarities. He remembered reading once that most men often married women like their mothers. Following that logic, he had always assumed that gay men might be more inclined to be with partners that were like their fathers.   Of course, Ori never knew his father—he had died in the line of duty just after Ori was born—but he knew he was a policeman and was unfailingly kind and quite protective of his mother; not unlike Dwalin himself.

            _Maybe in Dwalin and my cases,_ Ori thought, _both ideas are correct._

            After the tour, they went to the kitchen and together they made supper. It was a light affair of chicken with oven-roasted vegetables, a good bottle of German white, and strawberry ice cream for desert; Ori’s favorite. It was during supper that Ori found out about the home.

            “So,” Ori asked. “Did you have to upgrade the furniture when you bought the place or were the modern pieces already here?”

            Dwalin looked confused. “What do you mean?”

            “Well,” Ori stated. “It’s clear that the chairs and couches in the great room are modern proportions, as well as the tables and lamps, at least compared to the antiques in the guest rooms.”

            Dwalin released a little laugh. “Sweetie, I don’t own the house.”

            Ori sat up straight to that. “But you called it _your_ place, and if I remember correctly, Dis even made a comment about _‘your place near_ _Windsor_ _’_ when I walked you back to the office after lunch the other day.”

            “It is _my place_ , in that it’s my _family’s_ place.” Dwalin stated. “Then again, I’m the only one that comes out here on a regular basis anymore, though.”

            “I see,” Ori asked, “The Durin side doesn’t own it, but Farin’s side does?”

            “Correct,” Dwalin confirmed. “Thrain is the owner of the Durin’s estate; several kilometers west of here.” Dwalin got a little smile on his face. “You thought I owned this place all by myself?”

            Ori just smiled and shrugged his shoulders which got a little chuckle from Dwalin.

            “You know,” Dwalin said with a smirk. “I’m not really as rich as you think I am.”

            “Really?” Ori nodded but was not fooled. “Tell me, how much are your car payments monthly?”

            “I don’t have any,” Dwalin stated.

            “So you just paid cash for the McLaren?”

            “Christ, no!” Dwalin laughed. “I put on my credit card and paid it off when the bill came in.”

            Now Ori laughed. “Right—sweetheart, you are _exactly_ as rich as I think you are.”

            Dwalin wasn’t sure how to respond to that, should he respond to it? “I’m going to go clean up,” Dwalin said with a small smile. “Think about what you would like to do when I’m done. Maybe a movie or something; up to you.” He gave Ori a kiss and headed for his bedroom.

            Dwalin slowly undressed but his mind was elsewhere.

            What had Ori meant by his comment? Dwalin was sure it wasn’t insulting—far from it. Ori had smiled and laughed, but it was unnerving in a way. Why was this issue of money, such an issue to begin with? Dwalin couldn’t help he came from money and certainly couldn’t help but make more of it—that was his job basically. But it clearly weighed on Ori’s mind. Granted, Dwalin had to admit that he was oversensitive at this point, because of the misstep in the beginning. But then Ori had told him only today, _‘Sweetie, we both need to put Tuesday behind us.’,_ so why was it still coming up?

            Dwalin walked into the large bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water heated up and he chanced a glance in the mirror, he stopped; the bathroom was huge, almost the size of Ori’s bedroom and the shower alone could fit four people. There were double wall mounted shower-heads on either side of the stall and there were two, rain shower-heads above. He never really noticed before, because it didn’t matter to him, but now that he had a vision of where Ori lived and what his home was like, the differences were obvious.

            Dwalin suddenly remembered something Dis had told him on Tuesday, _‘You men around here just seem to forget that the average person doesn’t live like you do.’_ When had he lost track of the ‘average person?’ There hadn’t been an issue like this with his other lovers. Ah, but there was a simple explanation for that; Dwalin never went to their homes—they came to his. They only ever part of his world and frankly, they weren’t interested in anything but the way Dwalin lived, and worked, and what he drove and his condo and his money. That was the truth right there.

            He remembered being in the army and how both he and Thorin had reveled in getting to know real men, real people. Nothing fake, their fellow soldiers didn’t care who they rubbed elbows with or what schools they went to. There were more important things to worry about—like not getting shot and staying alive. The four years in service were worlds away from Dwalin’s life before signing up.  

            Now, Dwalin had kept some of that feeling when he got discharged. He wasn’t as uptight as Balin, or as workaholic as Gloin, or Thorin—although, today’s scene with Bilbo was pushing Dwalin into thinking that Thorin’s attitude wasn’t all just the war and work. But no, Dwalin was more relaxed about life than he was before the military, but at some point he failed to realize how his life looked compared to the average. Maybe that was why Ori had subtly thrown out that he wanted Dwalin to keep the old Rover and made comments that he _really_ liked Dwalin in jeans and casual shirts, or even a part of why Ori had drawn Dwalin as things other than just a man in an expensive suit. Maybe all those things combined helped Ori stay grounded while surrounded by all the things in Dwalin’s life that were unobtainable to most people.

            _Unobtainable._

            Dwalin felt like a fool, once again. Of course, that was it. When Ori saw all these expensive things around him, he was reminded of things that he himself could never afford, the things that were unobtainable, things like designer clothes, fancy cars, and expensive homes. And when he looked at Dwalin, dressed and immersed in those things, it probably made Ori feels that Dwalin himself was unobtainable.

            As the warm water sprayed over his body, Dwalin felt a bit like it was a baptism. Start today, starting now, he would make sure Ori knew, Dwalin was far from unobtainable, that a love and a life with him was very obtainable.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Ori was an idiot.

            Why had he even made the joke? It was meant as one but somehow, the whole thing came off insulting—at least that is how Ori saw it. Dwalin had been gracious. He had smiled but Ori saw the look on Dwalin’s face and Ori would swear he had hurt him. It certainly was not what Ori had intended and hadn’t he just told Dwalin today that they should put Tuesday behind them?

            God, why was he still pushing Dwalin away? Dwalin certainly didn’t make any snide remark or look down on his humble flat. On the contrary— _‘You have a nice place here’_ —Ori could still here Dwalin’s voice calling from the living room. At the time Ori didn’t think much of it, but now, Ori realized that there had been no insincerity or sarcastic tone in Dwalin’s voice; the compliment was meant.

            Looking around the place, Ori had to admit that Dwalin’s home was a nice place too. Sure the furniture were true antiques and expensive—so what? Just because that chair was bought a hundred years ago and Bilbo’s chairs at home were bought secondhand, they were both just fucking chairs!

            _Christ,_ Ori thought and laughed to himself. _This is all just stuff! And I am pushing away the best thing that has ever happened to me because of fucking stuff. It was, in a way, reverse snobbery and judgmental prejudice._

            The only thing Ori needed to care about was Dwalin’s feelings and how he felt about Ori—and Dwalin had shown Ori over and over and over how he felt, today being a perfect example!

            It was time— _it was past time_ —that Ori showed Dwalin how _he_ felt!

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dwalin was just about to finish up when the light went out.

            “Fuck!” Dwalin said. “God-damned bulb.” It couldn’t have just waited five fucking minutes before going?

            “It’s not the bulb,” Ori’s voice said softly in the dark.

            Before Dwalin could even think of a response, there was the _snap_ of a match and Dwalin saw a pinpoint of light through the steam covered glass of the shower. The light grew brighter; a candle—and it filled the bathroom with a soft, warm light; intimate light if one thought about it. Then Dwalin saw Ori’s shadow appear just before the shower door opened.

            “Thought I’d see if you needed any help,” Ori said just a whisper.

            Dwalin could only watch as Ori, who was wearing Dwalin’s robe, slowly untied the robe’s belt and let the whole garment fall to the floor. Ori step in, offered a sweet, innocent looking smile then turned his back to Dwalin so that he could turn on the other showerheads.

            Dwalin’s eyes roamed over Ori’s naked form, from the beautifully shaped calves and thighs to his, oh so tempting, firm, round arse, then up his smooth back and shoulders. Ori, studying the shower, reached out, turned the lever and the water changed from the wall mounts to the rain showerhead. Ori still didn’t turn but he raised his hands and ran them over his head as he tilted his head back so that the water rained over his face and down his body.

            Dwalin took the invitation. He took a step forward and gently ran his hands over Ori’s hips and then slowly moved them up Ori’s sides. Ori drew a quick breath in and it was all the encouragement Dwalin needed—he wrapped his arms around Ori’s chest pulling the smaller man against him. Ori’s head fell back onto Dwalin’s shoulder as Dwalin tilted his head and began to kiss on Ori’s neck. Ori moaned and placed one hand on Dwalin’s head to let him know to continue what he was doing; Dwalin’s hands moved at the same time—one came up and rubbed Ori’s nipples which pulled another quick, sharp breath out of the younger man, while Dwalin’s other hand traced the treasure trail down Ori’s stomach to teasingly play with the thick bush of pubic hair. The temptation was too much and not half a minute later, Dwalin’s rough, callused hand wrapped around Ori’s hardened cock.

            “Oh, God,” Ori breathed out, completely giving in to Dwalin at this point and Dwalin answered with an appreciative growl as he now worked on sucking and nipping Ori’s tender, markable shoulders.

            Ori in turn pushed back so that Dwalin’s engorged cock slide up and down between Ori’s cheeks, further inflaming the building fire within the bear-like man. Ori moved his hands so that lay over Dwalin’s own.

            Dwalin was content to stay like this for some time, but not forever and finally, he had to have more, taste more, _explore_ more of Ori’s body. He moved Ori’s hands to the shower wall in a silent command to keep them there and once Ori was braced, Dwalin slowly moved his mouth down Ori’s spine, licking, kissing and tasting the flesh along the way while his hands kept firm hold on Ori’s hips. Finally, Dwalin was kneeling behind his lover, as he made Ori know that he was to tilt his hips back so that Dwalin now had Ori’s arse open for him. Dwalin gently spread the cheeks apart, nipping the inside of each cheek to make Ori wiggle just a bit before moving forward and running his tongue over Ori’s tender opening which earned Dwalin a near-filthy moan from the younger man.

            But teasing Ori’s entrance was only going to satisfy Dwalin for so long. He needed to Ori to touch him. With a slightly tug downward with his hands, Dwalin pulled Ori down until they were both kneeling; Dwalin turned Ori around and moved so that Ori could straddle Dwalin’s lap and once their cocks touched, it was electric. Ori wrapped his arms around Dwalin’s neck and Dwalin encircled Ori’s waist with his arms; their mouths instinctively drew together and there was nothing but the kiss that both so desperately needed at that moment—it spoke of want, of desire, of passion, of need, of love—so much was communicated in their touch, their taste, their kiss, that both knew what was coming.

            Dwalin reached around and begin to tease and press Ori’s opening with his fingers. The water was slick but not enough and it wasn’t long before the body wash was there—who reached for and pulled it to them, neither could say later, it was just there—and it wasn’t long before Dwalin had one, than two, and finally three thick fingers deep into the velvet softness within Ori. Throughout Dwalin’s exploration, Ori’s breath grew deeper and deeper, until it began to get ragged and he couldn’t take much more.

            “Dwalin,” Ori said, his lips against the larger man’s.

            “Is this what you want, babe?” Dwalin teased as pushed his fingers deeper, only to be rewarded with a whine from Ori.

            “I want you,” Ori breathed as the water poured down but did nothing to cool the increasing heat. “I want you in me.”

            “What do you want?” Dwalin asked; he wanted to hear it.

            “Please,” Ori whined.

            "Tell me," Dwalin demanded.

            “Dwalin," Ori begged.  "Please, fuck me."

            Dwalin needed no more encouragement.

            Ori released a protesting whimper as Dwalin withdrew his fingers and turned Ori around again, making the young man brace himself against the wall, and with them both kneeling there for only a moment, Dwalin swiftly lined up his almost painfully hard cock with Ori’s inviting hole. With a little more soap lube, Dwalin pushed forward and slowly entered the tight warmth that was Ori.

            “Oh my god,” Ori moaned out as he moved his hips backwards and met Dwalin halfway. It took only a few slow thrusts, then Dwalin, with a groan of pleasure, was in—all the way, and the dance began.

            At first it was only the gentle rocking of both their hips, Dwalin forward, Ori back, but it was soon becoming clear that neither wanted the leisurely pace. Dwalin reach out with one hand on the wall next to Ori’s and his other took a firm hold of Ori’s shoulder. Dwalin’s thrusts were growing urgent and he increased their lengths; pulling his cock almost out then pushing all the way back in. Ori took every one and rocked back, almost wantonly.

            “Oh fuck,” Ori breathed out. “Oh God! Dwalin, I’m going to cum.”

            Dwalin wasn’t even touching Ori’s cock—yet. “I want you to cum.” Dwalin reached around with his unbraced hand and grabbed Ori’s dick a little roughly, to pump it and tease the head with a callused thumb.

            Ori gasped with Dwalin’s hand on his cock, “Dwalin—I’m going—I’m going to—”

            “Cum for me, baby—I want to hear you,” Dwalin growled into Ori’s ear and Ori’s breath grew deeper and became ragged. “Come on, Ori—Cum for me!”

            It only took a few more rough pulls, a couple more of Dwalin’s deep thrusts and his snarl-like commands, for Ori to surrender with a cry, his orgasm exploded out of him and his seed shot all over the shower wall and floor.   Not a half a minute later, Dwalin could no longer hold back—not with Ori tightness around his throbbing cock, the smell of Ori’s cum filling his nose, but especially not when Ori called Dwalin’s name and declared his love for him. Dwalin gave one more deep thrust and with a growl of Ori’s name and a call to the man on the cross, Dwalin erupted, filling Ori with his essence.

            For several minutes neither of them moved. The shower rained down on them and it was a long time before their breaths evened out and they were even able to change position. Slowly though, they stood and while they kissed and touched, they also washed each other and relished in the intimacy of the act. No words were exchanged, but then what words could be said that compared to what had been communicated between them.

            When they were dry, they ended up laying on the bed, Ori tucked next to Dwalin’s side. This gave the younger man time to run his hands through the thick hair of Dwalin’s chest and stomach. Like his beard, Dwalin’s chest hear was turning grey but his stomach was still dark. Ori also got to admire Dwalin’s tattoos. Ori almost laughed because like the warrior drawing he had done, Dwalin had full sleeve tattoos on both arms. But these were in a Norse design—almost Viking like.

            “I take it you don’t mind my tattoos,” Dwalin drawled as he watched Ori trace the designs with his finger.

            “No,” Ori said emphatically. “To me, it doesn’t matter the canvas—art is art. And these are beautiful.”

            “Good,” Dwalin said with a smirk. “I’d hate to have them removed.”

            “Don’t even think about it,” Ori said giving his love a pointed look.

            “Of course,” Dwalin added, “They looked better when I used to shave my arms—they really stood out. Then again, I used to shave completely.”

            Ori gave Dwalin a horrified look. “Oh my God. If you shaved your body, there'll be no sex until it grew back.”

            Dwalin shot Ori an amused look and a cocked eyebrow. “No sex at all until it grew back?!”

            Ori pursed his lips and then huffed out a sigh. “Alright, maybe not _‘no-sex’_ , but I would be—”

            “Angry?” Dwalin offered. “Incensed? Livid?”

            Ori got a little pout on his face. “Unhappy?”

            That did it. “Oh, no,” Dwalin said shaking his head. “I can’t have you unhappy.” They both laughed at that, but Dwalin had meant it completely.

            Dwalin reached up and pulled Ori’s lips to his own and as their kiss deepened, they rolled so that Ori was under Dwalin and the older man had free reign of Ori’s body.

            “You know,” Dwalin said as he moved to kiss Ori’s ear and nuzzle the younger man’s neck. “If we keep this up, we won’t be getting out of bed at all tonight.”

            “I know,” Ori said, twisting just a bit so that his hardening dick connected with Dwalin’s own stiffening cock. “That was my plan.”

            Dwalin smiled and thought, _Who am I to go against my baby’s plans._

 

_**INSPIRATION FOR DWALIN'S TATTOOS**  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone that is REALLY picky - yes I know, the apartment I show as Bilbo and Ori's is, in fact, in Paris. However, I couldn't find a London Flat that had all the elements I needed, plus a good layout. It looks a bit posh for them, HOWEVER, i am going with the idea that Bilbo makes very good money from the magazine (that will come out later).


	9. SATURDAY - No Ordinary Love (Thorin's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Try as he might, Thorin can never forget .... the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three Sade songs referenced here, The Sweetest Taboo, Nothing Can Come Between Us, No Ordinary Love
> 
> Also, this fic is clearly set in England, but I am a beastly American - I am so desperately tying to get the slang and references correct, but if I screw up, I hope you can forgive me (or let me know what I can change).

* * *

 

 

            If there was one thing he felt for sure, it was his head. In fact, he didn’t feel much of anything _but_ his head, with all its pounding soreness. It felt like lead when he tried to raise it off the pillow but eventually, he managed it. Once he was sitting up, the pain momentarily increased in his temples before settling into something far more acceptable—not gone, but better.

            Of course, the unfamiliar surroundings didn’t help.

            _Where the fuck am I?_ Thorin thought. He looked around the darkened room he didn’t recognize and his eyes fell on the digital clock next to the bed; 02:00. _Great, fucking middle of the night in a strange bed._ He took a few deep breaths and licked his dry licks; his mouth tasted like it was been stuffed with toilet paper; used toilet paper.

            Gradually, his head cleared after a few more deep breaths and he rolled his shoulders and neck; the resounding pops and snaps of his joints felt good despite how they sounded. He looked around again, and this time, he saw his overnight bag by the door and his rumpled clothes on the chair and realized he was at Dis’— _oh yeah, had a bit of a bender; at work._

_Shit._

Slowly, very slowly, he reached for his cane, stood and made his way to the bathroom. He closed his eyes tight to the blinding light until they adjusted. Finally, a good look in the mirror confirmed what he imagined; he looked like he felt—like shit. He used the toilet, to much relief, and then rinsed his mouth out. A few more deep breaths, some cold water on his face, and another round of stretching and he felt a bit more human—still felt like a walking corpse but a human one at least.

            Ignoring the bedside lamp, Thorin just left the bathroom door open to allow the light there to spill into and illuminate the room. He gently picked up his bag and pulled out a tee-shirt and gym pants, changed into those after discarding the remains of his suit with the rumpled jack and shirt.

            His stomach growled at that point. It dawned on him, he hadn’t eaten at all. He opened the guest room door, as silently as possible, and walked out into the hallway. He headed towards the only visible light source, which appeared to be in the kitchen. Sure enough, as he entered the room, someone—he was sure it was Dis—had left the light above the cooker on _. Probably figured I would want food at some point; clever girl._

            While he was still foggy, he knew enough to remain quiet—even with the family’s bedrooms on the floor above, the last thing he wanted to do was to wake his sister.

            “How are you feeling?” came a soft, silky voice behind him.

            Thorin turned to face Dis. “What do you have,” he said above a whisper, “psychic abilities?” He gave a weak smile, but he was actually glad she was there.

            Dis returned his smile with one of her own. “I may be a bitch at times,” she said, as she opened the fridge. “But I’m still the mother of two teenage boys; my ears are fine-tuned to the sounds of someone sneaking about my house.” She started pulling out bread and containers, setting them on the kitchen island.

            “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Thorin said, getting a glass out of the cabinet.

            “Like I said,” Dis said, retrieving a carton of milk from the fridge and handing it over to Thorin. “I’m attuned. Besides, you’re not as quiet as you think you are.” She gave him a wink and began opening the containers, pulling out meat and cheese and making him a sandwich.

            “I missed dinner I take it?” Thorin said, taking a drink of the milk he just poured. It tasted slightly sour on his tongue but he knew that was from drunkenness, not the milk itself.

            Dis laughed at his comment. “I tried to wake you,” she said. “But when I told you that dinner was ready, you grumbled out, _‘Unless it’s one of those noisy kids of yours on toast, I’m not hungry.’_ ” Thorin groaned at that but Dis giggled and added dryly, “Needless to say, I let you sleep.” She finished the sandwich and pushed it towards her brother.

            “Thanks,” Thorin said, taking a bite over the sink; ham and cheese; it’ll do. “I’m sorry to be a bother.”

            Dis stopped still. “You’re not a bother.”

            “Sure,” Thorin said taking another drink of milk. “I get pissed at work, pass out in your guest room, make some horrid comment about my nephews, wake you up at two am, then on top of it all, you end up making me a sandwich because I’m still too lead-headed to wield a knife ... no, not a bother at all.”

            Dis wrapped her arms around Thorin’s waist from behind and pressed herself tightly against his back. “You’re the only brother I have left,” She whispered hoarsely. “And as much as you’re a pain in my arse, I still love you.”

            Now he really felt like shit. Thorin turned and returned Dis’ embrace. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

            Dis pulled back to look at Thorin. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” she said softly. “What I want is for you to let me take care of you.”

            Thorin nodded. “Because it’s pretty damn obvious I can’t take care of myself.”

            “I don’t know what happened,” Dis said reaching up to gently stroke Thorin’s face. “And I’m not going to push you. Just know, if there’s anything you need or want ... even if it’s just an ear to bend or a shoulder to cry on, I’m here for you.”

            “Thank you,” Thorin said, pressing a kiss to Dis’ forehead. “I appreciate that, really.” He tried to give her a smile but wasn’t sure if it worked. “But right now, what I _want_ is for you to go back to bed.”

            Dis huffed out a little laugh. “Will you be alright?”

            “Yeah,” Thorin said and meant it. “I am probably just going to sit in the living room for a bit and then head back to bed myself.”

            “Okay,” Dis said, pulling away completely and walked away. Before she left, she turned back. “Good night, darling.”           

            “Night,” Thorin replied as Dis turned the corner. He heard her soft steps retreating up the stairs and back to bed.

            Thorin put away what food was left out, poured himself another glass of milk and went into the living room. He made himself comfortable in the corner of the couch and he vaguely recalled his recollection— _his memory_ —just before he fell asleep. It all seemed so far away now like it happened to someone else or as if it were truly just a dream.

            But it wasn’t, it was his life. And once again, sitting in the darkened room, all alone, his mind returned to that time.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_THREE YEARS PRIOR_ **

 

            Thorin should have known that whatever car Bilbo drove it would be just like him; small and cute. He vaguely remembered Bilbo saying he had an Austin Mini but it didn’t really register until they were walking up to the vehicle. Bilbo was prattling on about the state of the car and _‘please excuse the mess’,_ etc, but Thorin was thinking, _I hope to bloody hell I can fit in that._ That made him laugh to himself, _Guess I should worry about the same with Bilbo._

            But in the end—no pun intended—they were able to get Bilbo’s suitcase, Thorin’s duffel and himself, all six-foot-two of him, in the car with Bilbo. No, Thorin was not really comfortable but he was exactly where he wanted to be; with Bilbo. That’s all that mattered.

            “Where should we go?” Bilbo asked brightly, pulling out of the station car park.

            “Depends,” Thorin offered, settling back. “What are you in the mood for?”

            “Not fast food,” that got them both chuckling before Bilbo offered other choices. “Are you in the mood for spicy or savory? Do you want foreign or maybe pub fare?”

            “No pub food, _please_ ,” Thorin held up a hand to emphasize. “It’s your choice though; I am not hungry for any one thing.” _Well, not hungry for food that is._ But Thorin kept that to himself.

            “Right,” Bilbo chewed his lower lip in thought. “There is a great little seafood place down by the water, or there is a lovely vegetarian place I know of.”

            The word _‘lovely’_ told Thorin that the vegetarian was probably Bilbo’s first choice, but it certainly wasn’t his. _‘Great’_ made Thorin think that seafood would be a good second. He decided to offer a couple of more. “How about Thai?   Or French?”

            “No really _great_ Thai places here,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “At least, not in my opinion. French is okay.”

            _‘Okay’, that meant he’s not up for that either._ “Vegetarian, it is then.” Thorin just wanted to spend time with Bilbo, and as much as he didn’t care for it, tofu was a small price to pay for remaining in Bilbo’s company.

            He should have realized when Bilbo smiled at him sideways and didn’t say yes or no to his choice, that the shorter man was up to something. They pulled up in front of a small restaurant and when Thorin got out, he read the sign—The Regency Restaurant, but the little lobster on the sign tipped him off.

            “I thought we were going vegetarian?” Thorin was confused.

            “You didn’t want vegetarian,” Bilbo said matter-of-factly.

            “I never said that,” Thorin replied a little suspicious.

            “No,” Bilbo said, trying to contain the upturn of his lips. “But I notice that whenever I say something that you don’t ... _perhaps_ , share the same view on, let’s say ... your right eye gets a little twitch in it.”

            Thorin just stared back. “It does not,” Thorin stated, surprised.

            Bilbo just walked up and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to get back in the car and to the vegetarian place?” Bilbo’s voice was light, but it failed to hide the tiniest bit of smugness in its tone.

            _Damn.  Already reading me like a book._ “Well,” Thorin said shrugging his shoulders. “We’re ... already here ... don’t want to ... bother you driving elsewhere.”

            Bilbo let loose a bright laugh and rolled his eyes, as he hooked an arm around one of Thorin’s. “Stubborn as a mule,” Bilbo threw out but clearly didn’t mind.

            The menu turned out even better than Thorin thought. He was able to order a steak while Bilbo stuck with grilled salmon. Thorin ordered a bottle of French Rosé so that it went with either dish.

            Throughout dinner, the conversation, just like the train, flowed effortlessly. Bilbo talked of his work as a professor but added that he was excited to be working for the magazine and his desire to be a writer. Thorin shared his history of being in the military and his eventually returning to work at his family’s investment firm and how he hoped someday to continue moving up. Thorin also shared stories of living in London and good places to eat, nightspots, nice areas to live—always the suggestion of continuing to see each other never spoken but rather understood.

            It was over dessert and coffee that the conversation turned to other matters.

            “I will admit,” Thorin said fiddling with his fork, “that I am a bit conservative politically but more liberal on social issues.”

            “Really?” Bilbo said with mock surprise. “A member of the great family, Durin, known for .... what did you say? investments, stocks and _‘capitalist ventures’ ..._  a conservative? How shocking!” Bilbo didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

            “Are you taking the piss?” Thorin shot Bilbo a narrowed look but it had no heat at all as Bilbo’s bright smile attempted to hide a laugh. _Oh, Christ, he can sass me all day long, as long as he smiles at me like that._

            “I might be,” Bilbo said sweetly.

            “Cheeky beggar!” Thorin said and that earned him Bilbo’s bright laugh that Thorin already loved.

            “Well, to be honest,” Bilbo said, “I am a little _fiscally_ conservative myself. I mean, it pisses me off when Whitehall wastes money left, right and centre, and then expects taxpayers to pick up the tab. But socially, I am very liberal.”

            “You’re a university professor,” Thorin dryly, “I think being socially liberal is written into your job contract.”

            Bilbo gaped at Thorin, whose turn it was to now laugh. “I will have you know, _Mister Durin_ , that I am highly respectable.”

            “That’s a shame, _Mister Baggins_ ,” Thorin quipped and loved the way that Bilbo blushed all the way up to the tips of his ears.

            “In all honesty,” Bilbo said, finishing his cuppa. “I will say I admire you for your work.”

            Thorin stilled; no one ever _‘admired’_ his work—not even his father.

            “I couldn’t possibly do what you do,” Bilbo continued. “I have no head for numbers at all, so I'm humbled by someone like you who makes it sound so easy and simple.”

            “It’s not hard, really,” Thorin was still a little dazed. “I mean, I grew up around it so it’s like breathing.”

            “As I said,” Bilbo stated. “I admire it, truly; it’s a gift.”

            “You grew up with writing and reading, I’m sure,” Thorin offered.

            “Not really,” Bilbo said. “Not like you with finances. For me, it was more an escape from my life, not a part of it.  If you get my meaning.”

            “I'm not sure,” Thorin admitted, feeling like he was failing somehow _._

            “Let me just say,” Bilbo spoke quietly, “that I had a wonderful, but short childhood and then it turned into something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

            _That can’t be right,_ Thorin though. _How did this beautiful man come from such a place? What happened?_ Bilbo’s voice was quiet and soft but there was an undertone—Thorin could swear he heard hurt, pain.

            A fierce feeling of protectiveness rose up within him; all he wanted at that moment was to take Bilbo in his arms and shield him, keep him safe. But before Thorin could even say or ask anything, Bilbo turned the page.

            “Shall we go for a walk?” Bilbo said, giving Thorin an imploring smile that seemed to ask that they move on from what was hanging in the air now.

            “Of course,” Thorin answered; whatever Bilbo wanted right then, Thorin would give him.

            The bill came and they had a little _disagreement_ over who would pay. Bilbo insisting that he lived in Brighton and Thorin was visiting so he should pick up the tab. Thorin scoffed and said that Bilbo was moving and didn’t need to add to his expenses so it was only logical that Thorin pay. Bilbo rolled his eyes and said that he had picked the restaurant and he should pay. Thorin laughed and said Bilbo could have his way and pay but as the waiter came up, Thorin quickly handed the man his credit card and when Bilbo huffed and reminded Thorin that he said he could pay, Thorin agreed he'd just said that—but he didn’t necessarily mean _this time_. Neither of them noticed the amused smiles and snickers of the waiter and those around them.

            Since they were only a street from the ocean and the night was filled with stars, they crossed over and walked along the beach. As before, the conversation flowed perfectly and Thorin revealed in the fact that, like on the train, it was never dull, never boring—even when they talked of trivial matters, like when Bilbo when on for a bit about which brand of biscuit went best with what flavor ice cream!

            But in the back of Thorin’s mind, he could not rid himself of Bilbo’s references to his upbringing. What had happened? Bilbo had mentioned his parents in passing and Thorin got the impression that they were very loving and supportive of Bilbo. Maybe he had misunderstood? Had there been some sort of financial problem? Maybe a severe illness, like alcoholism or even gambling that marred this home life? Each idea seemed more unlikely than the last one, but still, Thorin couldn’t shake it.

            But it would have to wait, Bilbo was talking about other things now and Thorin had no intention turning the conversation round and upsetting Bilbo; that was that last thing he wanted.

            Thorin was brought out of his unconscious musing when Bilbo asked him a direct question.

            “You know,” Bilbo said, stopping to lean back against the railing of the walk. “I never even asked you what brought you to Brighton!”

            Thorin chuckled. “No, you didn’t.”

            Bilbo waited but Thorin only stood there and said nothing, until finally, Bilbo couldn’t take it. “Well?”

            “Well, what?” Thorin teased.

            “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

            “Aren’t you going to ask me properly?”

            Bilbo smacked Thorin’s arm mockingly and only to get a laugh in return. “Cheeky!”

            “I’ve learned from the best,” Thorin smiled and winked at Bilbo.

            “Fine,” Bilbo said blushing but smiling nonetheless. “Pray tell me, _Mister Durin_ , what has brought thee to our humble hamlet?”

            “Forgive me, _Master Baggins_ ,” Thorin said with as much melodramatic, Shakespearean flair as he could muster and still keep something of a straight face, “for I have come to escape the drudgery that is my family and to seek that which will sooth my soul and offer me peace of mind in these troubling times.”

            Bilbo laughed loudly and brightly, which only got Thorin laughing and once again wishing for Bilbo to always laugh like that for him.

            “Why would you need,” Bilbo asked, finally able to breathe, “to escape your family?”

            “Well, I’m deploying on Tuesday-” Thorin started but stopped when Bilbo’s face drained of color, his eyes wide and his mouth gaped.

            “You’re leaving?” Bilbo asked quietly as if he couldn’t believe the words he was saying.

            “Yes,” Thorin was starting to panic. _Oh shit, oh shit, fuck! Why did I just blurt it out?!_

            “I see,” Bilbo nodded and turned around to gaze at the sea, his face hidden from Thorin.

            “It’s my last deployment,” Thorin offered quickly, attempting to get a solid footing in the conversation; to swing it back around—anything to get Bilbo to smile for him again.

            “You’re last,” Bilbo repeated in a soft, dazed voiced.

            “I’m going to be discharged in a few months,” Thorin said. _Please turn around, Bilbo. Please._ Thorin wanted to reach out and turn him himself, but he was afraid to make any move.

            But he got his wish; Bilbo turned and looked at Thorin imploringly. “You’re going to be out?”

            “Yes,” Thorin felt the tightness in his chest relax a bit. “I am leaving the army. I’ve been in for eight years and it’s time for me to return to civilian life.”

            “So you will be home ... for good,” Bilbo stated.

            Thorin could swear he saw hope in those hazel-green eyes he loved to look into—or maybe he just wanted to see it, but fuck it; he would take it. “Yes. I will be home for good. In London.” And Thorin couldn’t help but offer a shy smile and add, “Like you.”

            Bilbo looked down and a gentle smile formed on his lips; Thorin’s heart finally started beating normally again.

            “In that case,” Bilbo said looking at Thorin with a sweet smile, “we should ... I mean, _you_ should ... make this a special weekend.”

            Thorin couldn’t help but wear a wide grin. “I think you had it right the first time; _we_ should make this a special weekend.”

            Bilbo's smile turning mirthful, ““What we _should_ do, is get you some rest. It’s ... what time?”

            Thorin looked at his watch. _Holy crap!_ “It’s just after two am.”

            “Definitely need to get you to your hotel,” Bilbo said with a mock grimace. “You never told me where you were staying.”

            “That’s because I didn’t get a place beforehand. I thought I would just wing it.”

            “Wing it?” Bilbo giggled.

            Thorin just shrugged.

            “Look, uhm ...” Bilbo seemed to hesitate and Thorin suddenly began hoping Bilbo would offer what Thorin so desperately wanted. “It’s very late or early ... however you want to look at it and, uhm ... I have a perfectly comfortable couch—”

            _YES!_ Thorin almost pumped his fist in the air.

            “—that you are welcome to if you ... I mean, if you would like ...”

            “I’d like that very much,” Thorin said as calmly as he could.

            “Oh.  Okay,” Bilbo said and even in the dim street light, Thorin could see Bilbo blush beautifully. “That’s ... that’s brilliant.”

            Thorin nodded and without any further word, they headed back towards Bilbo’s car. Thorin had promised himself that he wasn’t going to let Bilbo out of his sight and he had meant it! And as Bilbo wordlessly, gently, slipped his hand in Thorin’s on the way back, Thorin suspected that Bilbo felt much the same way.

            Thorin had to admit, he felt a little nervous. Sure, he had had one-night stands before, he had dates where he’d end up back at one or the other’s place right after dinner, and he would be lying if he said he had never had a hook-up in his life. But it would be a stretch of anyone’s imagination to say that was normal for him. At least it wasn’t normal now.

            Before coming out, he'd lived a very closeted life. He never dated anyone for more than a few weeks, never considered the men he saw as boyfriends and, for obvious reasons, usually stuck to other guys who lived in the closet. He never slept with anyone associated with work—that meant employees, clients, or even associates of others firms. Hell, most of his sexual partners were totally unaware of his family, who he was or what he did; that wasn’t the point of dating them. And while his love life grew old and tried because of the constant need to hide, to conceal, to always lie—he still had a fear to come out.

            Then Thorin’s life was turned upside down; Frerin took his life, 9/11 shook the world out of its veil of innocence and ignorance and Thorin became acutely aware that his life was an empty, meaningless existence. He didn’t want to just exist; he wanted to breathe the free air and truly _live_.

            But still, he couldn’t give himself to someone else. How could he? He didn’t even know who he was. All he had thought he was, was nothing more than lies. And being in the army, he didn’t want someone he loved and cared for, to have to go through the pain and suffering of losing him.

            Now here he was, in Brighton, his life on the edge of finally being his own, and by some strange unexplainable twist of fate, he had with him a man, a beautiful man with an equally beautiful soul and a smile he would gladly die for, and he knew that all his hopes and dreams were so close to reality!

            Bilbo’s flat was a tiny one bedroom, and like his car had a wondrous, sort of lived in quality; Thorin liked it. He was vaguely aware of Bilbo’s apologies for _‘the mess’_ , but all Thorin saw were books about and a couple of vases of flowers, CDs here and there, a lap blanket huddled in one corner of an old chair, pillows scattered about—it felt homey, comfortable, and soothing; like Bilbo.

            “If you would like,” Bilbo said, folding the little blanket over the back of the chair and straightening pillows, “you’re free to use the bathroom first.”

            “Thanks,” Thorin said, shifting his duffle more securely on his shoulder. “Would you mind if I took a quick shower actually?”

            “Oh, course not!” Bilbo said, motioning Thorin to follow him into the bedroom. “Let me get you a towel and washcloth.” Bilbo pulled the items out of the closet and put them in the bathroom. Thorin looked about the small bedroom—an old brass bed, a painted French-style dresser and in one corner a wicker chair. Again, it felt warm and cozy.

            “Thank you,” Thorin said, setting his duffle on the bed.

            “Take your time,” Bilbo insisted and backed out of the room; a blush quickly blooming beautiful up his neck, face and finally his ears as he closed the bedroom door.

            Thorin removed his uniform and walked into the bathroom. The shower was a bit small, the shower head was low—he had to stoop a bit to get under it, but it made him laugh. He wondered what it would be like if he lived with Bilbo. What the average day would be like—sharing their tales of work, making dinner, cleaning up together, maybe arguing over who should be the one to run out and get ice cream because they were out and then deciding to go together. It was silly and completely ridiculous but Thorin couldn’t help himself.

            When he got out and brushed his teeth, he had a fleeting thought about shaving but decided that he truly was being ridiculous and left it.

            He didn’t sleep in pajamas—hell, he normally didn’t sleep in _anything_. However, as much as he would love to do that with Bilbo, it might not be appreciated the first night and besides, he was sleeping on the couch. An undershirt and boxers would do.

            The first thing he noticed as he exited the bathroom was that his uniform was hanging up on the back of the bedroom door. Clearly, Bilbo had snuck in and hung up his pants and jacket on one hanger with his belt looped through the hanger’s hook by the buckle, while his shirt was on another hanger along with his tie. Next to the door were his shoes, his socks had been neatly folded and placed inside one of them. His underwear had been left on the floor—he could only guess that Bilbo didn’t want to overstep. Once again, the idea of Bilbo doing his laundry—taking care of him, managing him, actually making him feel good.

            Thorin dressed, placed his duffle to one side, and went out.

            Bilbo had been busy. The place was tidy—the CDs were cleared away, the vases have been reduced to one and it was filled with the flowers that were still in good shape. All the pillows had been moved to the chair and Bilbo was just finishing making up the couch.

            “You do quick work,” Thorin said.

            Bilbo turned, his face flushed seeing Thorin standing there in nothing but his boxers and a thin undershirt. “I thought you might want to go right to sleep. You must be tired at this point.”

            “Not as tired as I thought I would be,” Thorin said, the shower having helped a bit.

            “Well,” Bilbo said nervously, “I think I may follow your lead and have a quick shower before bed.”

            Thorin nodded and moved aside as Bilbo went past and into his bedroom; closing the door behind him.

            Thorin looked around now that he had a chance. The books were old and naturally, they bore names of nineteenth-century authors; not surprising given Bilbo’s specialty. Jane Austen — Bilbo’s favorite — the Bronte sisters, Hawthorne, Dickens; just to name a few.  There were also ones he didn’t know that well; Gaskell, Stevenson, and Eliot. Given the Victorian's love of the macabre, there were gothic authors as well; Mary Shelley, Stoker, and Poe.  But alongside the horror, was the poetry of Byron, Dickenson, Barrett-Browning, and Wadsworth, with the near-obligatory Blake and Yeats. Thorin felt a little surge of pride; Bilbo was no slouch or mindless club boy.

            Thorin looked over Bilbo’s music collection too. At home, Thorin’s own collection was meticulously organized; he had all his CDs arranged not only by genre but alphabetically. Bilbo’s was a mess compared and yet, Thorin was warmed by it; opera mixed with classical and R&B.

            He wondered if maybe he should put something on; he was tempted. But Bilbo might want to go to bed as soon as he was done.  Then again, maybe he would want to stay up a bit longer; Thorin wouldn’t mind one bit!  In the end, he gave in. But instead of choosing a new CD, Thorin was curious as to what Bilbo had been listening to last. So, he turned on the system, turned down the volume and then hit play. The room filled instantly with the low, soft sound of Sade’s _“I Couldn't Love You More”;_  Thorin had to admit, she was the one singer he really did like in the genre and he added that to his growing list of things he loved about Bilbo Baggins.

            He heard the door to Bilbo’s bedroom unlatch but not open. _Must not have been closed all the way and the opening of the bathroom door caused it to pop open or something._ Thorin was seized with an urge and he knew he shouldn’t, knew it was wrong — he was pushing it — but he gave in and walked over.

            The bedroom door was cracked — opened a few centimeters — and through it, he could see Bilbo from behind; large white towel wrapped around his waist as he used another towel to dry his hair. Bilbo was slowly swaying side to side to the sound of the music.

            It was too much.

            All night his feelings had been building and standing there, seeing the soft, pink-tinged skin of Bilbo’s back, was too enticing for him to resist. Thorin pushed the door open without a sound and slowly moved towards Bilbo as the music played on in the background. Bilbo, still unaware of Thorin's presence, dropped the towel in his hands and used his fingers to comb out the now slightly damp curls that Thorin had been longing to touch.

            There was a voice in Thorin's head telling him to go back—to turn around and go back—but he couldn’t hear it, didn’t _want_ to hear it really. He couldn’t stop—he knew he wanted, he desired and it was more than lust—no, not lust, it far too beautiful for his feelings to be anything other than what he knew them to be, what he feared to say out loud.

            Thorin was now directly behind Bilbo and just as the younger man realized he was not alone, Thorin reached up and gently laid his hands on each of Bilbo’s shoulders. Bilbo drew breath and stilled; Thorin leaned down and ghosted his lips over the shell of Bilbo’s right ear; Bilbo tilted his head to give Thorin more access. Thorin rubbed his thumbs in circles on Bilbo’s shoulders as he tenderly nuzzled Bilbo’s ear before working his way down to Bilbo’s neck, earning Thorin an arousing hitch in Bilbo’s breath. Finally, Thorin pressed a warm, subtle kiss to Bilbo's right shoulder, and as he felt Bilbo tremble.

            “Tell me to stop,” Thorin whispered, as he continued to move his lips along the smooth shoulder. “Tell me I shouldn’t be here." Thorin kissed the other shoulder. "Tell me to leave." Thorin placed a kiss on Bilbo's back, right between the shoulder blades. "Tell me, and I’ll obey.” Thorin moved back to the side of Bilbo’s neck and ran his lips over the sensitive skin, pulling more hitched breaths from his little one. “Tell me to stop, Bilbo ... because I can’t stop myself.”

            Bilbo slowly turned in Thorin’s arms, Thorin’s hands dropped to Bilbo’s waist while Bilbo threaded his hands around Thorin's neck.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo whispered and Thorin saw his own emotions reflect in Bilbo's mesmerizing hazel-green eyes.  "Please ... don't stop."

            “Oh, Bilbo,” Thorin pulled them closer, their lips parted and crashed together.

            There weren’t words to describe it. Thorin felt dizzy; there was only Bilbo, there was nothing else in the world—Bilbo had become his world. The feel of Bilbo in his arms was perfection, they fit together like a hand and glove, and the kiss reached into Thorin’s soul, pulling him out of himself. He was only vaguely aware of the music.

 _I always hope that you remember_  
_What we have is strong and tender_  
_In the middle of the madness_  
_Hold on_

Thorin felt like he was drowning and but he was gladly going under. They made it to the bed but Thorin could never say later how.   Bilbo’s towel, Thorin’s clothes ... gone; how they disappeared, again he couldn’t say. There was only Bilbo and his warm, soft body, holding him close.

            _Nothing can come  
            Nothing can come between us_

Thorin grew bold and soon he was moving his mouth, his lips, down the tender flesh of Bilbo’s body. _Mine, you are mine,_ Thorin thought and as if in answer, Bilbo surrendered. So claim him, Thorin did. There was nowhere he didn’t touch, nowhere he didn’t taste. Bilbo was for him and he was for Bilbo and they were together.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo whispered.

            “Bilbo,” Thorin whispered in reply. “You’re beautiful.”

            “Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered breathlessly, with a kiss. “I ... I want ... oh, God.”

            “I want you,” Thorin was losing himself.

            “Then take me,” Bilbo breathed out.

            Was this fate? What it destiny? Were they meant to meet? Thorin didn’t know, he didn’t care, he didn’t want to _think_ about it—he only wanted it. He felt complete, as if this was where he had belonged, as if he had always been cleaved in two and only now found his other half—found the one he should always be with. Found his one and only.

            There was no going back—what was there to go back to? Nothing.

            When Thorin finally entered Bilbo it was ecstasy, pure bliss. They were together in a way and with an emotion that Thorin feared to name and as the moved together, Thorin opened his eyes to see Bilbo with tears in his eyes; skin flushed and red.

            “Don’t cry, baby,” Thorin said softly as he kissed the tears on Bilbo’s cheeks.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo said as their eyes locked. “I love you.”

            _Oh God, yes!_ Thorin wouldn’t deny it any longer. “And I love you.”

            It was only a few more thrusts and suddenly Bilbo threw back his head, arched his back and came—just from the rubbing of his cock against Thorin’s hard, furred stomach. That was all Thorin needed and he followed with a moan that turned to a growl and his love filled Bilbo.

            They held each other tight and as their mouths met, making love as their bodies had; the music still playing.

 _I keep crying_  
_I keep trying for you_  
_There's nothing like you and I baby_  
  
_This is no ordinary love_  
_No ordinary Love_

 

 

**_BILBO'S FLAT IN BRIGHTON_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Regency Restaurant is a real place! check out their website and see where our lovers dined - http://www.theregencyrestaurant.co.uk/


	10. SATURDAY - No Ordinary Love (Bilbo's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, many have said i am 'teasing' you with the story and you are all desparate for the reaons behind Thorin and Bilbo's break - please know that I am NOT being intentionally cruel - i just want the reveal to be where it needs to be - i am giving you the clues that make the reveal make clear sense.

* * *

 

 

            Bilbo rolled over and blinked himself awake; the only light in the room was the dim halo, caused by streetlights streaming in, around the closed curtains. Breathing slowly and letting his mind slowly unfurl the cloak of sleep, he leaned over to check the bedside clock; 02:00. Bilbo flopped back down. _You can’t be surprised, Baggins, you did go to bed at eight in the evening._

            As the day came back to him, part of him felt like crying again, but he had cried enough on the train ride to Brighton; he was done with that. He didn’t often cry—well, not openly weep anyway. There were only a few times in his life where he had just let go, and most had been for Thorin.

            Thorin.

            He had wanted to believe, told himself to believe, that it had all been for the best. He had to believe it because the alternative was to surrender to despair and darkness, and he didn’t want to do that—not ever again.

            No, Thorin had a dream, and though Bilbo had so desperately wanted to be the one to fulfill it, in the end, Thorin had found another and for that, Bilbo couldn’t blame him, he wouldn’t. Hadn’t he told Thorin all those years ago, that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make him happy? It was true; Bilbo wanted Thorin to be happy, even if it meant the sacrificing of Bilbo’s happiness.

            But then why had Thorin been so angry, so hurtful, so _hateful_ towards him? Hadn’t he done what was needed and expected?

            Bilbo always knew that there was a chance, no matter how slim or improbable, he and Thorin would run into each other; their offices were only a few blocks away. Though, it was true that for the last two years Bilbo had actively avoided walking past Durin and Sons; even going so far as to ride to the tube station one stop away from his office building and backtracking, so there would be less chance to meet.

            And naturally he’d wondered what it would be like if they had run into each other. Maybe there would be a ‘hello’ or ‘how do you do’, something casual. Maybe they would pass with a nod of recognition and then move on—both continuing on with their lives. Then again, maybe as the years progressed and stretched, Thorin might forget him to the point that if or when he saw Bilbo there would be a look of confusion and wonder, _did he know that person?—_ but Bilbo would have passed on by the time Thorin thought too hard about it and that would be the end of it. But never in all the scenarios that had played out in his mind had Bilbo expected the cold and icy exchange, the pointed poisonous look thrown at him by those blue eyes he still loved.

            Suddenly, his stomach gave an unhappy growl and demanded attention. There was nothing for it; he couldn’t lay there anymore.

            Slowly, Bilbo sat up on the side of the bed and reached for the small lamp on the bedside table. Instantly the room was filled with a soft glow and Bilbo took a few deep breathes to clear his mind completely. When he wondered if there was something to eat in the kitchen, his stomach answered with a low gurgle.

            _Okay, okay, you greedy thing, I’ll feed you._

            Standing, he put on the complementary dressing gown that hung on the back of the bedroom door and padded his way down the stairs.

            He had gone to bed almost as soon as he had arrived at _The Grey Hen_. He successfully held off Dori’s interrogation, but knew that that would only be temporary. He had tried to protest when Dori showed him to one the best rooms, but Dori had insisted and frankly, Bilbo was in no shape to argue. After a quick text to Andy to let him know he had arrived, Bilbo had stripped down to his underclothes, lay on the bed and went right to sleep.

            Trying his best to be quiet, Bilbo made his way down to the kitchen and to the delights that awaited him there. Dori was a fantastic cook so Bilbo expected something tasty to be around.

            He hadn’t expected, however, was the cook himself.

            “Well,” Dori said quietly, “look who’s awake.”

            “Dori,” Bilbo stood in the doorway. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

            “Not at all,” Dori said smiling and taking a sip of tea. “Just enjoying a cuppa.”

            “At two in the morning?” Bilbo asked suspiciously.

            Dori pursed his lips. “Alright, I half expected you to wake in the middle of the night.” Dori motioned for Bilbo to take a seat at the small kitchen table. “So when I woke up at one, I decided to stay awake.”

            “How did you know I would wake up?”

            “You call me out of the blue,” Dori replied with a pointed but amused look, “sounding _very_ stressed, asking if I have a room and asking about coming down immediately. You skillful avoid answering any questions when you arrive, then proceed to fall asleep within moments once you get in the room, thus missing dinner.  And you _never_ miss dinner. So really, do you have to wonder how I would expect you'd wake in the middle of the night?”

            As if to answer Dori, Bilbo’s stomach gave another growl.  Bilbo sighed and Dori just laughed.

            “Okay,” Bilbo said when Dori stopped chuckling. “You got me.”

            “I have some things put aside.” Dori stood and pulled a few containers out of the fridge and began heating them up. If Bilbo’s nose was correct - and it was rarely wrong - there was onion soup and Dori’s famous Boeuf Bourguignon.  When warmed, Dori set the food in front of Bilbo, along with a small bottle of Perrier and a plate of croissants. Bilbo could not help looking at the pastries and recall the honey-glazed ones at Bombur’s Café just before seeing Thorin.

            Thorin again.

            “Bilbo,” Dori started. “Are you going to tell me what happened today?”

            Bilbo shrugged. “What makes you think something happened?”

            “Please,” Dori, almost rolling his eyes. “I had Nori as a brother; I know when something’s up.”

            “It’s a long story,” Bilbo countered, hoping to throw Dori off.

            “Yes,” Dori said quietly. “You said as much _to Ori_.”

            Bilbo stilled for a minute. “You spoke with Ori?”

            Dori cocked an eyebrow. “Did you not think that he would call me at some point when he knew you were coming here?”

            _Actually, I didn’t think about it._ “What did he say?” Bilbo asked quietly.

            “Not much,” Dori answered, taking a sip of tea. “Just that you ran into someone and that it was bad enough for Ori to be scared for you.”

            Bilbo winced at that. “I didn’t mean to scare him.”

            “He’s only worried, Bilbo,” Dori said quickly. “We both are. Besides, even I can figure out that this sudden visit isn’t some urge for a holiday.”

            “No, it’s not,” Bilbo breathed out. He started eating again, but his mind was working, organizing, trying to find a good starting point because he knew the time had come.

            “So?” Dori said sitting back and crossing his arms.

            Bilbo put down the silverware, took a drink and then nodded.  Drawing a deep breath, he started his tale. For the first time in three years, he was telling someone the whole truth, confessing really, and once it started pouring out, it became a tsunami. He hadn’t realized how much was held inside until the words were out there. When he was finally finished, Bilbo felt empty but somehow relieved. Unfortunately that was not what Dori was feeling.

            “I can’t believe it!” Dori thundered. “How could you still feel _anything_ for a piece of garbage like that?!”

            “He’s not garbage, Dori,” Bilbo said quietly. “You don’t know Thorin.”

            “I can’t imagine I’d _want_ to know him!” Dori got up, and pour himself another cup of tea. Bilbo hadn’t seen Dori this angry since Nori was alive. “How can you excuse his ...  _betrayal_?!”

            “Having a home and a family was his dream,” Bilbo answered.

            “And he couldn't have had it with you?!” Dori said empathically.

            “Some don’t want to adopt or use a surrogate,” Bilbo replied. “Simple as that.”

            “There is nothing _simple_ about what he did!”

            “Maybe not,” Bilbo agreed. “But I didn’t want some scene or confrontation.  I loved him. I still love him. I will _always_ love him. I would make the same choice again.”

            “What choice?” Dori demanded. “He made it without ever consulting you!”

            Bilbo could help but smile. Dori was the fussiest man in the world, but get him angry and one would be wise to run.

            “I just don’t see how you can forgive that,” Dori inquired.

            “You know the old saying,” Bilbo replied. “If you love something set if free.”

            “That, in my humble opinion, is a fucking bloody load of crap.”

            “I couldn’t force him to continue our relationship,” Bilbo stated. “What would it have accomplished? And even if I could have, he would have grown to resent and despise me. Am I happy about how it all came about? No. Do I wish had had just told me directly? Yes. But in the end, the fact is, he choose another and there is nothing to be done. I would rather him be happy without me, than unhappy with me; I couldn’t have lived with that.”

            “You almost didn’t live at all,” Dori said under his breath.

            “That’s a whole other story,” Bilbo responded.

            “You deserve better,” Dori retorted.

            “Life doesn’t work that way,” Bilbo said a little sadly. “No one deserves anything, especially me. And I know you agree.”

            “What does that mean?” Dori looked confused.

            “Dori,” Bilbo wasn’t bitter, not really. “I know you thought Nori deserved better than me.”

            Dori looked surprised. “Did he _tell_ you that?!”

            “No,” Bilbo answered softly. “You did, in a way.”

            Dori gaped; Bilbo figured his friend had totally forgotten.

            “It was when Nori and I came to tell you about our relationship, remember?” Bilbo said softly. “I overheard you both in the back garden; you told him he could do better.”

            Dori was now truly shocked. “I never said any such thing!”      

            “I heard you myself,” Bilbo said; maybe it was time for everything to come out. “The two of you were arguing over our relationship and you told him, _‘I have no idea what you’re thinking dating Bilbo, of all people. I expected better of you.’_ ”

            “Bilbo—”

            “It’s okay,” Bilbo said and it was. Like with Thorin, Bilbo had come to terms. “I was the kid that no one wanted; I was a nobody, I had nothing. No one wanted me in their family, so I can’t blame you.”

            “You’re wrong, Bilbo,” Dori looked stricken.

            “Dori, I don’t blame you—honestly I don’t. We’ve become good friends now, the past is meaningless.”

            “But, Bilbo—”

            “I only brought it up to make a point about deserving. It no longer matters.”

            “The hell it doesn’t!” Dori yelled and leaned forward. “Because you have it all backward!”

            Bilbo was confused. “I don’t understand.”

            Dori sat there with a scowl on his face but was obviously wrestling with something. Finally, he spoke up. “That conversation you overheard; he had just told me you had been seeing each other. He had joined the military just the year before and he was living in London and seeing you on the weekends here in Brighton.”

            “Correct,” Bilbo repeated. “He said it was time to be official.”

            “Come clean more like,” Dori said.

            “What was there to come clean about?” Bilbo asked.

            Dori took a breath before pushing on. “I was aware you were getting closer when you were seventeen and Nori was twenty-five.”

            Bilbo smiled. “I had quite the crush on Nori if that is what you mean.”

            “Yes, well,” Dori stated. “Then he went away.”

            “Right,” Bilbo stated. “He went into the merchant navy; with Bofur.”

            “Bullshit,” Dori answered. “Only Bofur went—Nori didn’t.”

            Bilbo truly was confused. “He was gone for years. Ori and I got all those letters and postcards from all over the place?!”

            “Oh, he was gone alright,” Dori said sardonically. “But he didn’t go into merchant navy. He had Bofur send those letters and postcards back so that you and Ori wouldn’t know the truth.

            “What _truth_?”

            “Nori didn’t go overseas,” Dori spat out, “he went to prison!”

            Bilbo just sat there like a stone; he felt a bit numb. How did he not know?

            “Nori begged me to not tell Ori or you,” Dori rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have listened to the bastard.” Seeing that Bilbo was struck dumb, Dori went on. “It was one thing and bad enough, when he stole candy and toys for you and Ori as kids. But as he got older, he got in deeper and deeper; eventually it caught up to him. He got involved with some very shady goings-on; he never said, but I think it might have been something international. In any case, he got caught; he turned Queen’s witness and got a lighter sentence—fifteen years rather than life.”

            “Fifteen years?” Bilbo couldn’t add it up. Nori went away when Bilbo was seventeen, but Bilbo started seeing him just seven years later in two-thousand-two.

            Dori unknowing solved Bilbo’s problem. “He only served half that time—good behavior or something, if you can imagine, but he entered the army right after getting out. Why they took him, I’ll never know, but I thought at least he was on the right track.

            “I did, however, tell him specifically to stay away from you and to not try to rekindle any sort of teenage romance.”

            Bilbo had to laugh at that. “You should have known better; telling him to stay away only pushed him right to me—you realize that.”

            “Sadly, I thought he had learned his lesson,” Dori added sourly. “But no.” Dori leaned forward and took one of Bilbo’s hands in his own. “That conversation you heard wasn’t about him dating someone better than you, it was that he should have known better than to involve you in his life. I knew what you dealt with growing up—the abuse and suffering you had to endure. I feared he would saddle you with his past and drag you down.”

            For Bilbo, it was near mind-blowing. It was like finding out that, not only was the one you loved a completely different person than the one you knew but that you, yourself, were not who you thought you were.

            “Bilbo,” Dori said softly. “It was never that _he_ deserved better than you— _you_ deserved better than him.”

            Bilbo was quiet for a few minutes. “I don’t know what to say,” Bilbo finally admitted. “I’m totally—”

            “Gobsmacked?” Dori filled the blank. “Flabbergasted? Shocked?”

            “Shocked is a good one,” Bilbo nodded.

            “Oh, Bilbo,” Dori got up and sat next to Bilbo, wrapping an arm around the shorter man. “I will say, despite my words, he did truly love you—I believe that.”

            Bilbo did too, but there was something unsettling about finding out that Nori had lied through omission. “All these years,” Bilbo whispered.

            “All these years,” Dori repeated sadly. “You thought you unworthy.”

            “Yes,” Bilbo admitted it.

            “You were so wrong,” Dori said. “As much as I disapproved of Nori, nothing would have pleased us more than if you had become part of our family.”

            _Wait, that couldn’t be right._ “But Dori,” Bilbo said, turning in his seat, causing Dori to drop his arm. “You kept me at arm's length when I was growing up. You were—cold to me.”

            Dori closed his eyes but Bilbo read the expression of guilt on Dori’s face. “I have to own that,” Dori said, gazing at Bilbo. “But again, that wasn’t your fault.”

            Bilbo wasn’t sure how much more confusion he could handle.

            Dori took a few breaths and a sip of tea before speaking. “I remember when you and Ori were first becoming friends,” Dori said. “I thought it was nice that he had someone that could relate to losing a parent, or in your case _parents_ , and that it would be good for both of you.

            “It didn’t take long, though, for him to bring home tales about you and your Aunt Lobelia. At first I didn’t know what to think. She was well known in town and had a reputation for being a patron of the arts and all that. Most spoke well of her and her reputation and praised her left, right and centre, so to hear that she was verbally and physically abusive, seemed so out of character from what people said. I mean, it seemed so—”

            Dori stopped and Bilbo saw a look of remorse, regret— _shame?—_ on his face; it was heartbreaking.

            “You have to understand, Bilbo,” Dori was on the verge of tears. “I was young! I didn’t know better and I was struggling so much to keep my family together, complete my studies, deal with Nori’s troubles and Ori was just a child—”

            “Dori,” Bilbo grabbed Dori’s hands in his own. “It’s alright—whatever you have to tell is in the past. It can’t hurt us anymore.”

            But Dori was shaking his head. “No. No,” Dori whispered. “You don’t understand!  I still feel very badly about it!”

            “I can see it,” Bilbo really did and it was scary in a way. “But it’s over and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

            “No,” Dori said getting a hold of himself. “It’s time you knew.”

            Bilbo waited for Dori to drop the other shoe and he didn’t wait long.

            “Not knowing you,” Dori continued, “and hearing all these stories about your life at home, I thought you were telling Ori things to win his sympathy. Not in a bad way, but just as kids do, you know, blowing things out of proportion and making it sounds far worse than it really is.”

            Bilbo nodded but said nothing.

            “Eventually,” Dori pushed on, “the tales got worse and seemed so fantastic from what one heard of the Sackville-Baggins, that I started to worry that you might have,” and Dori paused as if to steel himself from his own words, “I thought you might have some psychological issues and maybe needed help.”

            “That’s understandable,” Bilbo said; Bilbo was not surprised by Dori’s assumptions.

            “But its worse,” Dori said in a strangled voice. “Bilbo, I didn’t just assume you had issues, I didn’t just think you needed help, I thought it would be in your best interest if Lobelia _knew_ what was going on.”

            “Oh, shit,” Bilbo said; that was news to him.

            “So, in my ignorance,” Dori said with a self-deprecating sneer, “I marched myself over to your Aunt’s house and proceeded to tell her what you were telling Ori. Needless to say, she didn’t take it well.”

            “I bet she didn’t.” Bilbo agreed.

            “I thought I was being a concerned and a helpful _‘parent’_ by passing along the information,” Dori said. “I thought she’d be grateful and want to get you help. But I didn’t get too far into my tale when she turned on me and accused me of getting you to lie and make up the stories; insinuating that my goal was to manipulate you and take your parent’s inheritance.”

            “Oh my God,” Bilbo could only shake his head; Lobelia would be delusional enough to think that. “She was projecting onto you because that is all _she and my uncle ever wanted_ from me.”

            “She went on to say that she knew _‘the truth’_ about my mother,” Dori continued, “and that she had been a whore and had children by different men—”

            “Oh my, God!  She never!” The accusation was horrid to Bilbo, even knowing it came from Lobelia. Dori just nodded.

            “She said she also knew of Nori’s troubles with the law,” Dori added. “It was then that she told me that if I ever said another word about your stories to anyone else, she would see that child protection came around and took Ori away, that she would make sure Nori went to prison, and she would sue me for slander.

            “So, I kept my mouth shut,” Dori said quietly. “I turned a blind eye to what was going on and I made Ori know that I didn’t believe the stories and to not bring them up again.”

            Bilbo nodded; it all made sense now. Lobelia had always hated Ori and Bilbo could never figure out exactly why she was so venomous towards the shy auburn haired boy. Of course, Bilbo wasn’t surprised any longer as to why Dori kept him at arm's length all those years. Hell, he was surprised that Dori even let Ori have anything to do with him after that.

            “It was only years later,” Dori added, “when you were grown and I found out that Lobelia had swindled you out of your parent’s money and home and left you with nothing, that I realized that if I had done to her what she threatened to do to me, she would have been in trouble—you would have been taken away from her, she would have gone to prison possibly, and you wouldn’t have lost what you did. It was my fault because I was scared.”

            “Now you listen to me, Dori,” Bilbo demanded, taking Dori’s hands in his own. “None of what happened to me ...  _none of it_  ... was your fault! Otho and Lobelia are the only villains here, and I don’t blame you for putting Ori first! I would have.”

            “How can you be so forgiving?” Dori asked softly.

            “Because, in the end,” Bilbo answered, “Ori is still my best friend; you and I became close friends, you helped me at university and assisted me in getting a position as a professor. And I wouldn’t trade those things for any amount of money.” Bilbo threw an arm around Dori’s shoulders and hugged him close.

            “I’m so sorry, Bilbo,” Dori said leaning into the embrace.

            “Stop it,” Bilbo stated firmly. “It’s over with. I thank you for telling me, but you should not worry anymore about it.” Bilbo heaved out a sigh. “The only thing I will ask is for you to tell Ori; to this day he thinks you hated me.”

            “I’ll do that,” Dori said. “I promise.”

            “Good, Ori’ll like that,” Bilbo knew his friend well enough to say that.

            “Besides,” Dori added with a little laugh, “I need to chat with Ori anyway. I have a feeling there is something he isn’t telling me.”

            Bilbo laughed quietly; he knew _exactly_ what Ori wasn’t telling Dori.

            It was odd for Bilbo to realize that so much of what he had thought and felt about himself was based on misconceptions and assumptions. He was a bit lightheaded with the idea. He now had to wonder—had he also being wrong about Thorin? The idea left him cold—so unlike that Saturday morning when he woke feeling so sure about everything.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_THREE YEARS PRIOR_ **

 

            Bilbo hated being late. He had spent the last few days hunting for flats; the last thing he wanted to do was delay his return trip to Brighton. But at the last flat he looked at that day, the owner kept going on and on and on, until finally Bilbo practically had to walk out on the man. Now here he was, running for the train.

            He boarded just as they were announcing the last call and he immediately saw that the only empty seats that weren't with groups of people were with a military man. He hated to bother anyone, but especially a man in uniform who probably wanted peace and quiet; why this poor man looked like he was sleeping.

            As he walked up, he couldn’t see the officer’s face as the man had his hat pulled down. Bilbo wondered if the man was, perhaps, waiting for a friend or had a girl with him but she was up using the loo or something. But there was no indication that someone was using the empty seats across from him and there was nowhere else appropriate to sit, so there was nothing for it.

            “Excuse me,” Bilbo said, just above a whisper. “Are seats across from you taken?”

            “They’re all yours.” The man said in a deep voice without lifting his hat, looking up or moving.

            Bilbo placed his saddlebag on the isle seat, removed his jacket and laid it over his bag, and sat down directly across from the man. He figured he would read to make the trip go faster so he unbuckled the bag’s flap and pulled out his old copy of _“Persuasion.”_

Bilbo glanced at the man. He still couldn’t see anything of the man’s face but the broad shoulders looked very nice indeed. The man wasn’t skinny, but from what Bilbo could tell, he had a nice taper to his waist. Stocky— that was the word Bilbo would use. The guy just looked solid and Bilbo vaguely wondered what it would be like to cuddle up with a man like—”

            _Okay, Baggins,_ Bilbo thought, _that’ll be enough of that._

As the train started moving, Bilbo was only vaguely aware of everyone around him. In fact, he didn’t pay any attention until music started playing. He shifted his gaze over to the older ladies down the way and could see that one of them was looking at her tablet with confusion. _She must be looking for the volume or something,_ Bilbo thought because it was loud enough to fill the cabin. He just smiled to himself and went back to reading.

            ”What the _hell_ are we listening to?” the officer said in a rather adorably, irritated voice—to Bilbo anyway, that proved powerless to resist and Bilbo released a giggle.

Taking a chance, Bilbo decided to answer the man. “It’s _The Flower Duet_ , from the opera _Lakme_.”

            Bilbo remained looking at his book. He figured if the guy thought it was funny, he would comment or chuckle or—something. But after a few long moments, Bilbo had the sensation of being observed and slowly raised his eyes and almost forgot to breathe.

            _Oh Lord, he is gorgeous._ Bilbo took in the thick, straight eyebrows, and the dark stubble on a strong jaw, but it was the eyes that got him; deep icy-blue eyes that held Bilbo in his place – they were inescapable.

            Bilbo could feel a blush forming over his cheeks and worried that the man could read his mind and knew just what Bilbo was thinking about—which was a tiny bit x-rated.

            The man removed his hat and Bilbo almost sighed at the close-cropped hair—so unlike his own shoulder-length mop of curly hair. Once again, his mind wandered, and Bilbo wondered what it would feel like to run his hands over the man’s head—while snogging the life out of him.

            The man got a small but sweet smile on his face and Bilbo could not help but return with one of his own.

“Uhm ... thanks for the music lesson,” The man said, in a slightly cheeky way.

            Bilbo was far from offended. In fact, for the first time, the right words just fell out of his mouth.  “Well,” Bilbo said, trying his best to be charming. “I couldn’t let you live life and not know _The Flower Duet_.”

            The man laughed and graced Bilbo with a brilliant smile. “You know what else I can’t live without?” The man said with a raised eyebrow.

            Bilbo wasn't used to this kind of flirty banter and he hoped he had a witty comeback, even as he braced himself for what the officer said next.

            “Your name.”

            Bilbo couldn’t help but smile and he could feel the heat spread across his face and ears. When Bilbo looked up, the man offered his hand and said, “I’m Thorin. Thorin Durin ... at your service.”

            “Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” was all Bilbo could trust himself to say.

            As he slid his small hand into the warmth of Thorin’s and stared into those beautiful blue eyes, Bilbo would forever say that that was the moment he fell in love with Thorin Durin.

            Their conversation flowed like water downhill; perfectly. Bilbo was amazed that there was never a lull or a dip. Few wanted to chat with Bilbo like this and he had to admit that he, in turn, loved to hear the smooth, rumble of Thorin’s voice which made Bilbo feel warm and safe.

            How in the world had he lived without this man in his life? Bilbo felt giddy, and to think, when they arrived in Brighton, Thorin actually wanted to continue seeing him! Bilbo knew he didn’t want to let Thorin out of his sight but to have that feeling returned was beyond words.

            They ended up at one of Bilbo’s favorite restaurants and once again the conversation was easy, effortless. They could talk about anything—nothing really—and yet it was natural, smooth, and beautiful in a way.

            Bilbo had never had this kind of connection in his whole life, not even with Nori, and Nori had been the only person Bilbo thought he could spend his life with.

            Only twice in the whole night had there been any sort of issue.

            The first was during dessert. Too close had the conversation skirted Bilbo’s childhood and upbringing. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Thorin, share with him all he had been through, it was just that he didn’t want to do it right then—Thorin was so sweet, so understanding, that Bilbo refused to ruin it. Later, maybe tomorrow—if there was a tomorrow for them—he would tell Thorin the truth.

            The second time was when Thorin had said he was leaving.

            The late night walk had been sublime; the stars overhead, the soft crashing of the waves, the fresh smell of the sea air. Then Thorin mentioned he was shipping out; Bilbo almost stopped breathing _. ‘Well, I’m deploying on Tuesday’_ Bilbo felt a panic rise in him—not only was Thorin leaving for a foreign, dangerous place—oh how his heart beat wildly at the very thought of Thorin hurt, but his deployment meant that they only had a short time; a few days at most. But Thorin had rushed to assure him that it was his last; he was coming home—home to stay.

            Well, Bilbo would make sure that before Thorin left, he would know how Bilbo felt. As frightening as it was to feel so strong a pull so soon, it was almost terrifying to think of letting Thorin go and not tell him. But how? When? Bilbo was no coward, but he wasn’t like Thorin; strong and brave, fighting for freedoms far from home—Bilbo owed Thorin the truth. Because when Thorin came home, Bilbo wanted nothing more than to see him again.

            And he suspected that Thorin felt the same.

            Naturally, Bilbo was nervous about offering a place for Thorin to say. Bilbo feared he would come across as cheap or, God forbid, Thorin might think that Bilbo was only after sex. But once again, Thorin amazed him and seemed far from offended, he wanted to stay!

            Bilbo couldn’t resist taking Thorin’s hand in his as the walked back to the car and Thorin gave it a firm but gentle squeeze in return that made Bilbo sigh.

            The flat was a disaster but Thorin didn’t seem to mind. However, when Thorin went into the shower, Bilbo rushed to straighten and make it all more presentable. Of course, he knew Thorin wouldn’t just go through Bilbo’s closet and get hangers for his clothes—not that Bilbo would have minded. So Bilbo hung up his uniform—which smelled wondrously like Thorin—and put away the man’s shoes. He left the underclothes were they lay; Thorin might be weirded out if Bilbo touched his boxers!

            Bilbo finished making up the couch when he Thorin came out of the bedroom in nothing but his boxers and an undershirt. Holy crap—no man should be that good-looking; honestly, it should be illegal.

            When Thorin admitted that he was not as tired as he thought he would be, Bilbo was overjoyed!   He would be more than happy to take a shower himself and stay up a bit longer. Fantasies of cuddling on the couch played in his mind, he so wanted to know what it would be like to kiss Thorin, to feel his rough stubble on his skin, his neck, and his shoulders. God Bilbo could just about imagine Thorin running his chin over Bilbo’s nipples and—

            Yeah, a shower would be nice.

            When he came out, he could hear that Thorin had put on music and he was touched that Thorin had left in Bilbo’s favorite CD. Bilbo swayed to the music, drying his hair and wondered if Thorin would mind if he only wore his thin robe.

            Suddenly Bilbo knew he wasn’t alone—Thorin was right behind him. At that same instant, Thorin’s warm, gentle, callused hands came to rest on Bilbo’s shoulders and he could only draw in a breath, least he embarrass himself with a moan.

            Bilbo felt Thorin’s lips glide over the shell of his right ear. Thorin rubbed his thumbs in circles on his shoulders as he tenderly nuzzled Bilbo’s ear before Bilbo felt Thorin’s breath on his neck—Bilbo couldn’t stop his breath from catching.   Finally, Thorin pressed a gentle kiss to Bilbo’s shoulder and Bilbo trembled.

            “Tell me to stop,” Thorin whispered, as he continued to move his lips along Bilbo’s right shoulder. “Tell me I shouldn’t be here." A kiss on the left shoulder. "Tell me to leave." Bilbo's felt a kiss at the back of his neck, and instantly goose pimples raced down his spine. "Tell me, and I’ll obey.” Thorin moved back to Bilbo’s neck and it was all Bilbo could do to breath. “Tell me to stop, Bilbo—because I can’t stop myself.”

           Bilbo couldn’t take it anymore. He turned in Thorin’s arms, feeling Thorin’s hands rest on his waist and Bilbo carded his hands through Thorin’s hair.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo murmured and saw in Thorin’s eyes what he himself was coming to realize—he had no intention of putting Thorin off. "Please don't stop."

            “Oh, Bilbo,” Thorin whispered and Bilbo was pulled to Thorin’s wondrous chest and their kiss was heaven.

           Bilbo, couldn’t think, he couldn’t explain what he was feeling, there was simply Thorin and nothing else. But then, what else did he need? Bilbo was in Thorin’s arms, it was glorious, they melded together perfectly, and as the kiss deepened, Bilbo would swear he could hear Thorin’s being calling to him, pulling at his very soul— _Oh, God, so this was what it meant to be consumed_.

 

 _I always hope that you remember_  
_What we have is strong and tender_  
_In the middle of the madness_  
_Hold on_

 

He held on to Thorin because to let go was unimaginable. They made it to the bed and suddenly it was just them—nothing between them. Thorin held him tenderly and Bilbo felt safe and warm. No words could describe it.

 

            _Nothing can come_ _  
_Nothing can come between us__

 

Thorin was ghosting his mouth, his lips, all over Bilbo’s body. Bilbo could only surrender, and let Thorin have his way—but then, he wanted nothing more than to belong to Thorin, as surely as Thorin belonged to him.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo called softly.

            “Bilbo,” Thorin replied just as softly. “You’re beautiful.”

            “Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo murmured with a kiss. “I want you.”

            “And I you,” Thorin answered, making Bilbo shiver.

            “Take me, Thorin,” Never had Bilbo said truer words.

            Was this destiny? Were they fated? Were they meant for each other? Bilbo had no answer—was there an answer?   All he knew, all he felt, was that he was whole, that he belonged, that he had found a piece of himself that he didn’t even know he was missing—found the one he would give the world to. He had found his soulmate.

            There was no retreat—would he if he even could? No—never.

            When Thorin moved into him, Bilbo knew what it meant for the angels to weep—it was beautiful and rapturous. They were one now and there was no longer a way to deny what he was really feeling. Bilbo was so overwhelmed, so filled with the emotion, he couldn’t keep it contained and his tears spilled over.

            “Don’t cry, baby,” Thorin said tenderly and kissed the tears away from Bilbo’s cheeks.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo confessed. “I love you.”

            And Thorin gifted him the answer Bilbo had waited all night to hear, “And I love you.”

            It was too much and Bilbo lost what little restraint he had left, throwing back his head and moaned with his release. Thorin followed with a growl not a minute later and Bilbo felt their bond tighten.

            As they held each, their mouths making love as their bodies had, Bilbo heard the music play on.

 

 _I keep crying_  
_I keep trying for you_  
_There's nothing like you and I baby_  
  
_This is no ordinary love_  
_No ordinary Love_

           

            Bilbo and Thorin lay unmoving but for their kisses. Thorin held him close, protectively, possessively and Bilbo had no compliant, no desire to be anywhere else. Slowly Bilbo glided his fingers through the thick hair of Thorin’s chest and down his stomach. Sometimes, Thorin would shiver if Bilbo hit a particularly sensitive area but then Bilbo would the same as Thorin’s fingers traced swirled designs on Bilbo’s smooth, pale skin.

            At some point, Bilbo drifted off—only to wake again and find all the lights were off and Thorin was cradling him close beneath the covers. Bilbo was in bliss with his head on Thorin’s thick bicep like it was a pillow, his face close to Thorin’s warm, furred chest and Thorin’s free arm over and around him, holding him close and safe.

            But the darkness claimed him once more and he soon found he was elsewhere.

 

_Bilbo was walking down a long hallway but the floor rose and fell like frozen waves, while the walls and ceiling were angled; nothing was straight or even. As he walked on, Bilbo could hear shrieking and crying mixed with sounds that he could not identify but filled him with apprehension. Even the air seemed stale and soon Bilbo felt he couldn’t breath right but he could not go back—there was no going back, for when he turned, it was the same view behind as it was forward._

_“Bilbo.”_

_“Who’s there?”_

_“It’s me, sweetheart.”_

_“Me who? Who are you?”_

_“Bilbo.”_

_“Where are you?”_

_“Right here, darling.”_

_Bilbo turned and suddenly he wasn’t alone._

_“Mum. Dad.”_

_“Hello, darling.”_

_“What are you doing here?”_

_“We’re here to welcome the new one.”_

_“What new one?”_

_“Not what, son. Who.”_

_“Who is it you’re welcoming?”_

_“Hey, kiddo.”_

_“Nori?”_

_“How are you?”_

_“What’s going on?”_

_“Come on, kiddo, we’ll show you.”_

_“Wait, where are we going?”_

_“Don’t dwaddle, honey. We have to welcome the new one.”_

_Bilbo was confused but when he blinked, his parents and Nori were so far ahead; he’d have to run. But he couldn’t—he could barely move and the floor was now rising and falling and the walls were swaying to and fro._

_“Wait! Wait for me!”_

_“Come on, kiddo. Hurry.”_

_The sounds were getting louder and it sounded like—was that fireworks? Thunder? What was that? And now there were flashes of light along with it. Was there a thunderstorm?_

_“Bilbo! Sweetie, you’re going to be late!”_

_“I’m trying mom—wait, for me!”_

_“Hurry, son!”_

_“I’m coming, Dad!”_

_“Hey, kiddo, step on it!”_

_“Nori, what’s going on!”_

_“He’s here, sweetheart!”_

_Bilbo gave a finally push and finally made it to the end of the hallway but his parents and Nori were not there—but someone else was, someone standing in the shadows. Bilbo couldn’t see and the thunder and flashing lights were shaking the room so badly that Bilbo couldn’t stand up._

_“Who are you?”_

_“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already, baby.”_

_“Thorin?!”_

_Then it was clear—it was no thunderstorm, not fireworks, but the rocking of explosions and missiles—the sounds of war and Thorin stepped out of the shadows and Bilbo couldn’t breath as Thorin was burned and bleeding! Bilbo tried to get up and run but there was Nori, bloody, his uniform shredded and burned from the bomb he’d died from, and behind Nori was Bilbo’s parents, pale and dead, covered in cuts and blood after the accident that claimed their lives._

_Bilbo finally found his voice and he could only scream._

_“Bilbo,” Thorin said._

_Bilbo screamed and screamed and screamed._

_“Bilbo!”_

 

            “BILBO!”

            Bilbo shot up in bed and gulped air as Thorin held tight to Bilbo's shoulder that he had been shaking. He was home, he was in his bed, and Thorin was there beside him. Thorin, solid and warm—whole and alive. Bilbo clung to Thorin and in return, Thorin cradled him close, slowly rocking him until Bilbo was breathing normally.

            “Feeling better?” Thorin whispered into Bilbo’s curls.

            Bilbo nodded with his face pressed against Thorin beating heart.

            “You want to talk about it?”

            Bilbo shook his head. “What time is it?”

            “Just before seven.”

            “Still tired,” Bilbo mumbled.

            Thorin hummed a laugh. “We’ve not had three hours of sleep. I’m not surprised you’re tired.”

            Bilbo nodded again, but said nothing; only breathed in the scent that was uniquely Thorin’s.

            “Go back to sleep, babe.”

            Bilbo snuggled close, almost instantly asleep. There were no more dreams/nightmares and it seemed only minutes later that he woke again. This time, however, he felt more refreshed and awake than before. He had shifted during his slumber and Thorin was pressed against his back, arms securely around Bilbo’s waist.

            There was a gurgled rumble and Bilbo knew that his stomach was even more awake than he was. Raising his head, he saw that it was just after 10:30.

            Slowly, deftly freeing himself from Thorin’s embrace, he needed something to put on and then he could go make breakfast; breakfast for the one he loved, the one who loved him in return, the one he knew, he would love forever. Spying Thorin’s uniform hanging on the back of the door, Bilbo smiled and hoped Thorin wouldn’t mind.

 

 

 


	11. SATURDAY - A Promise Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A NEWER VERSION - FOR THOSE THAT HAVE ALREADY READ THIS CHAPTER - THE ONLY DIFFERENCE IS THE ADDED BIT AT THE END. (Should have listened to my co-author the first time). 
> 
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE ADDED SCENE BETWEEN KILI AND UNCLE THORIN.

* * *

 

 

            Bilbo picked up his phone and smiled before answering. “Hello, there.”

            “So,” Ori said casually. “Let me see if I have this straight—”

            “Ori—”

            “—you tell my _brother_ the full story—”

            “Ori—”

            “—but you tell me— _me,_ your best friend—me, you tell, _‘I really can’t talk about it now.’_ ”

            “I couldn’t then and I still think its best I hold off telling _you_ for now.”

            “Why?!” Ori was almost offended. Almost.

            “Ori,” Bilbo said calmly. “You’re dating one of Thorin’s co-workers.”

            “Dwalin’s his cousin actually.”

            Bilbo laughed sardonically. “Oh, well that’s better!”

            “Really?”

            “No!” Bilbo replied. “Ori, I’m _pretty sure_ , judging from Dwalin’s surprise at Thorin and I knowing each other, that Thorin never told him—and probably most of his family—about my existence; am I correct?”

            There was no way for Ori to lie. “Yes.”

            “As such,” Bilbo continued gently, “I seriously doubt Thorin would appreciate me telling his cousin’s boyfriend the story of our relationship behind his back.”

            “But, Bilbo—”

            “ _And_ ,” Bilbo stressed, “If I told you the whole story but then asked you to keep it from Dwalin, which may not sit well with Dwalin, because—no matter what he might say—you would be keeping secrets from him and that in turn may erode his trust in you.”

            Ori huffed out a sigh. “Maybe, but—”

            “ _Therefore_ ,” Bilbo concluded, “until such time as Thorin tells his family, or at least Dwalin, I should remain silent. Besides, truth be told, I want to talk with Andy first, before I tell anyone else.”

            There was a long silence from the other end and Bilbo was hoping that Ori was taking in what he said and not gearing up for another angry retort. But Ori sounded more hurt than anything else. “Why did you never tell me?” Ori said softly.

            Bilbo felt a little guilt. “My only excuse is that it’s not only still painful for me, but I still love him and I selfishly kept him to myself.”

            “Wow,” Ori sounded as if he expected another answer. “Alright, I’ll wait until you tell me.”

            “And I will,” Bilbo couldn’t help but smile. “But please don’t ask Dori about Thorin. I’ve already asked him not to share.”

            “I know,” Ori confirmed. “I talked to him just before I called you.”

            “Speaking of Dori,” Bilbo continued, looking for a change of subject. “You may want to tell him about Dwalin soon; he suspects something.”

            “I have,” Ori said with a pause. “Mostly.” Bilbo had to shake his head in amusement at Ori’s response.

            “ _But_ …” Bilbo knew there was a ‘but.’

            “But, Dori doesn’t know I’m spending the weekend with him.”

            “Nor does he know, I’ll wager,” Bilbo added quietly, “that you’re in love with him.”

            “How did _you_ —”

            “Let’s just say,” Bilbo stated softly, “I’ve been in your shoes.” Once again, Bilbo thought it best to change the subject. “So, how is your weekend going?”

            “Oh, Bil,” Ori said and a smile that Bilbo could hear in his voice. “What can I say; I’m so in love with him.”

            “And he feels the same?”

            “Yes, he does.”

            “I’m glad for you,” Bilbo said and he was.

            “You weren’t a few days ago,” Ori countered.

            “You came home a crying mess,” Bilbo stated bluntly.

            “Bilbo,” Ori asked. “Is your relationship with Thorin why you’re always telling me not to rush, to be careful, and why you didn’t think it a good idea to get involved with posh men?”

            “You’re fishing,” Bilbo replied but he was amused; clearly Ori wasn’t throwing in the towel so quickly.

            “Can you blame me?” Ori said.

            “No,” Bilbo really couldn’t. “And I will … _concede …_ that, my history with Thorin may have … _colored_ my attitude.”

            Ori replied flatly: “What a responding, affirmative answer.”

            “Piss off,” Bilbo said sweetly to Ori’s sarcasm.

            “How are you feeling?” Ori inquired on a more serious note.

            “Better,” Bilbo was feeling more relaxed; the talk with Dori had helped.

            “How long are you staying in Brighton?”

            “I’m coming back Monday.”

            “Okay, I’ll see you Monday night then. Dwalin is dropping me at work Monday morning.”

            “Actually, you’ll see me Monday _at_ work.”

            “You’re coming into the office?”

            “Bard texted me to come in. He didn’t say what he wanted but I’m hoping it’s good.”

            “How could it _not_ be? He loves your work and makes no secret about it.”

            “I’ll find out on Monday.”

            “Alright then. Look, I won’t keep you—”

            “You want to get back to Dwalin.”

            “—and I’m getting back to Dwalin. Yes.”

            Bilbo laughed at that. “Enjoy your weekend and stop worrying about me.”

            “Yeah,” Ori huffed out laugh. “Because _that’s_ going happen.”

            “Oh, stop. Go … have sex with your lover.”

            “Already did that this morning. Twice.”

            “Christ, you’ll be lucky to walk right by Monday.”

            “Who said I was the one receiving?”

            “Now, that’s a mental image I didn’t need this morning.” Ori just laughed brightly and Bilbo joined him a few moments later. “Good-bye you perv.”

            “Bye, Bil. I love you.”

            “Love you, too. And give my best to Dwalin.”

            “Will do.”

            Bilbo ended the call and threw his phone on the bed. He was sitting in the very comfortable chair in the corner of his room, reading—trying to escape into the fictional realm of Austen’s. He had started to reread Jane Eyre but after talking about Lobelia last night, the book hit a little to close to home. He needed comedy and _Emma_ was perfect.

            There was a knock on the door and before Bilbo could extend an invitation, Dori entered carrying a tray.

            “Thought you might like some breakfast,” Dori was balancing quite a large tray.

            “You didn’t have to bring it up,” Bilbo said, moving to clear off the small table on the other side of the room. “I would have gladly come down.”

            “Don’t think on it,” Dori said. “Besides, it’s cozy here.” Dori removed the covered dish and there were scrambled eggs, bacon, and some roasted tomatoes. One side of the tray was a small stack of buttered toast and a pot of tea with a couple of cups. Extra plates were under the one with the food and Dori proceeded to set them out so that he and Bilbo could share.

            “I hope all this is okay,” Dori said, setting out the flatware and taking a seat.

            “It’s great,” Bilbo commented. He didn’t need breakfast to be fancy to love it.

            “How long have you been up?” Dori asked, pouring tea.

            Bilbo glanced over at the clock to get exactly time; 10:23. “Just about twenty minutes.”

            “I wondered if you would go back to sleep after our chat.”

            “I didn’t think I’d be able to, but when I came back, I went right out.”

            “Nothing like a good rest to clear you mind.”

            “Very true.”

            As they piled their plates and ate, Bilbo once thought of Thorin, images of their first morning after played in his mind.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Is there any coffee,” Thorin asked Vili as he came into the kitchen.

            “You bet,” Vili said, and was already pouring a cup for Thorin. “Need milk and sugar?”

            “No, black is fine,” Thorin said. The bitterness of the coffee hit his tongue and he sighed a bit; he needed fuel. He had gone back to bed around 04:00 and while he still felt tired, he no longer had a headache, nor did his head feel like lead. “Where are the boys?”

            “Watching TV,” Vili said, jerking his chin in the direction of the living room.

            “Please tell me they aren’t watching cartoons,” Thorin asked amused; not that he would hold it against his teenage nephews if they were.

            “God only knows,” Vili replied shrug. “But I think they might be watching the latest Peter Jackson movie.”

            Thorin nodded. He looked over at the cooker for the time; 10:33—he really should think about taking a shower and waking up completely.

            “How many women,” Dis said, sauntering into the kitchen with a smirk, “can say they have two hunky men in her kitchen at once?”

            “Yeah,” Thorin said as Vili chuckled. “Considering one of those _‘hunky men’_ is your brother, there’s a certain creep-factor to that comment. However, when the other guy is said brother’s brother-in-law and your husband, then your comment leans closer to bad gay porn.”

            Both Dis and Vili laughed riotously at that one.

            “So,” Dis said, pouring herself the last of the coffee. “What are your plans?”

            “At this moment,” Thorin said taking a drink. “Just a shower. Beyond that, no plans.”

            “Well, we already had breakfast,” Vili offered, “but I’ll be glad to whip something up for you.”

            “You don’t need to do that,” Thorin protested.

            “Don’t be a git,” Dis said. “Go take your shower, Vili will make you some food, and then we can talk about maybe getting out of the house for a bit.”

            Thorin just sighed. Dis had said to let her take care of him, so why not? “Fine—I won’t argue.”

            “Wow!” Dis, said with a laugh. “That’s a first!”

            “Are we sure he isn’t a Pod Person?” Vili asked with a mockingly.

            “If he is,” Dis quipped, “he’s better than the real Thorin, so let’s keep him.”

            “Sod off, both of you,” Thorin said as he flipped them off, which only earned him more laughter. But really, Thorin felt…well he felt good actually.

            He finished his coffee as he walked back into the guest room, setting the mug down on the bedside table and started getting ready for his shower. Vili’s offer of food was not only welcomed, but Thorin thought back to another wondrous Saturday morning that was also filled with the promise of a bright, beautiful day.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_THREE YEARS PRIOR_ **

           

            Even before Thorin was fully awake or had his eyes open, he realized he was alone. He rolled over and reached out, finding an empty bed but catching Bilbo’s scent nearby. He grabbed and pulled an item, a pillow, to him and held it close, taking a deep breath of Bilbo’s lingering sweetness and slowly opening his eyes. The bright morning sun was streaming through the window and while he was taking another deep breath he realized he could smell other things.

            Like breakfast.

            A smile spread across his face as Thorin rolled on his back and took in the morning. Bilbo was obviously making breakfast and although Thorin couldn’t hear much—lifting his head he saw that Bilbo had closed the bedroom door—he had this vague notion of his love humming to himself as he cooked.

            Thorin quickly got out of bed and found his boxers and undershirt; he figured after last night, he didn’t need to wear anything else, and made to leave the room. As he reached the door, something struck him as odd; his shirt was missing. His jacket, pants, belt and tie were all still there but the shirt was gone. Grinning like a schoolboy, he had a sneaky suspicion he knew what Bilbo was wearing.

            Exiting the bedroom and walking into the flat, the first thing Thorin saw was, indeed, Bilbo standing at the cooker wearing his shirt. Thorin wore longer shirts and because of this, the tail came almost to the middle of the back of Bilbo’s thighs. Bilbo had had to roll the sleeves up pretty far to get them above his elbows but he’d done it.

            Thorin moved quietly behind Bilbo as he had the night before and leaned forward just a bit so that as soon as his hands came around Bilbo’s waist, Thorin lips were just above Bilbo’s ear.

            “Good morning,” Thorin whispered and was rewarded by a little squeak from Bilbo.

            “Good morning,” Bilbo giggled and leaned his head back so that he could kiss Thorin completely.

            The kiss was almost chaste as Thorin pulled back quickly with a grimace. “Yuck.”

            “Yuck?!” Bilbo gaped at Thorin but was more amused at Thorin’s expression.

            “You’ve brushed your teeth,” Thorin said, moving back and covering his mouth. “I’m sure my breath is minging.”

            Bilbo just rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just kiss me.”

            “No,” Thorin said in the same tone as a petulant child, which only made Bilbo giggle again, and made for the bathroom to brush his teeth; returning just a minute later.

            “Are you ready now?” Bilbo asked sweetly.

            “Yes, I’m ready,” Thorin swooped in for a proper kiss but Bilbo turned his head.

            “Well, that’s great,” Bilbo said coyly. “But breakfast is ready. Could you pour coffee?”           

            Thorin swore later that he certainly did _not_ pout regardless of how much Bilbo insisted. However, Thorin did as told and set their mugs by their places, then sat down. Bilbo brought over their plates to the built-in table and placing a basket of warm croissants in the center along with butter and honey.

            Thorin watched Bilbo fix his coffee—lots of sugar and cream, and made a mental note so that when asked, he could whip up Bilbo’s coffee for him. Thorin gently pried open a croissant, spread a little bit of the soft butter on the inside then drizzled a small amount of honey over the butter. Thorin leaned slightly and offered the pastry to Bilbo who did not resist.

            “Thank you,” Bilbo said softly.

            “Anything for you, my love,” Thorin replied with his lovely, rich rumble of a voice. “You have a bit of … honey.” Thorin said nodding towards Bilbo.

            Before Bilbo could really register what Thorin meant, the taller man leaned closer and caught Bilbo’s lips with his own and slowly ran his warm tongue over Bilbo’s mouth. Bilbo shivered and merely looked at Thorin, a little breathlessly.

            “You had honey on the corner of your mouth,” Thorin said casually with a wink, taking a bite of his eggs. Of course, Bilbo couldn’t miss the smug smirk on Thorin’s face.

            “You did that to steal a kiss,” Bilbo added, sounding not the least bit unhappy.

            Thorin shrugged. “No reason not to do both. I got a kiss and saved you from having honey drip down your chin; it’s a win-win.”

            They continued to eat, chatting about Brighton, which Thorin had not visited since he was young, and they talked about a few day-trips they might make; The Brighton Pier, The Royal Pavilion, The Lanes—there were a couple of antiquarian books stores Bilbo wanted to visit, Stanmer House and Park, and even the Brighton Toy Museum that Thorin remembered when he was a child.

            However, Thorin had not forgotten about Bilbo’s dream/nightmare and it disturbed him in the way Bilbo had clung to him in an almost desperate manner. Not that he minded, far from it, but it was the idea of Bilbo waking so frightened that disturbed him. He had a feeling he knew what it was about or pertained to. Of course, Bilbo had refused to talk about it immediately after and Thorin reasoned that Bilbo might still wish to avoid it. So he used the one other avenue available to him.

            “Bilbo,” Thorin asked quietly, finished now and leaning back in his chair, drinking the last of his coffee. “Who’s Nori?”

            The air around them seemed to still and Bilbo sat frozen for just a moment or two before turning to gaze at his love. “Where did you hear—”

            “When you were dreaming,” Thorin said but knew _nightmare_ would have been closer to the mark, “you called for Nori, as well as your mum and dad.”

            Bilbo was quiet for a few minutes, but Thorin waited patiently for an answer; it was clear that Bilbo was thinking things over. Soon, however, Bilbo stood and before Thorin worried that he had pushed a subject too sensitive, could stop him, Bilbo went into his bedroom closet and returned shortly with a small box. Sitting back down, Bilbo lifted the lid and brought out a photo and handed it to Thorin.

            It showed a handsome man with short, dark auburn hair and brown eyes; Thorin had to assume this was Nori. The man was dressed in an army uniform and Thorin noticed right off that, like himself, the man was a Captain. The man wore a cheeky-rakish smile, but his eyes held an intelligence that was clear.

            “He’s very handsome,” Thorin said, returning the photo to Bilbo.

            “He was,” Bilbo said quietly.

            _‘Was’—shit._ “When did you lose him?” Thorin was still not sure in what way Bilbo had _lost_ Nori, but he had a bad feeling it was not a break-up.

            “Two-thousand-five,” Bilbo said quietly, still looking at Nori’s photo. “He died in the July Bombings.”

            Thorin felt like a heel. “Sweetheart, I’m so—”

            “It’s alright,” Bilbo said instantly, stilling Thorin with a touch. “I don’t want to keep any secrets from you.”

            Bilbo sat back himself. “Nori was my best friend’s middle brother,” Bilbo started. “He was eight years older than Ori and I and he often brought us sweeties, or games or toys. He was always doing things like that.”

            “That’s a nice older brother, especially to include you as well.”

            Bilbo cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Yes, but one would be wise not to asked how he … _procured_ , these items for us.”

            “Oh, dear,” Thorin said with an amused grimace, pouring himself more coffee.

            Bilbo huffed out a little laugh. “Nori didn’t like rules. Especially when it came to those he cared about it. So I won’t blame him. It was nice to be treated kindly.”

            Thorin almost choked on that last statement but Bilbo was already pressing on.

            “And it was hard not to like Nori; he had this kind of bad boy thing about him. Believe me, by the time I was sixteen/seventeen years old, I had a major crush on Nori.”

            Thorin smiled at the thought of a teenage Bilbo. “You have a picture of you then?” Thorin couldn’t resist.

            Bilbo dug around in the box of photographs and pulled out one, handing it to Thorin. Thorin was completely taken; there was Bilbo in an oversized jumper standing next to an auburn-haired boy with freckles who wore a knitted cardigan. Both were laughing and slightly hanging onto each other but they weren’t looking at the camera; clearly the photographer caught them unaware.

            There was no way around it, Bilbo was adorable. His curly hair shone like spun gold in the sunlight, his beautiful eyes were bright with mirth and his mouth open, the laugh on his lips caught forever by the camera’s lens. Thorin had to guess that Bilbo was mid-teens in the photo and for just a second, he wondered what it would have been like to have met his love when he himself was just exiting his teen years. Would he have been so taken? Yes. Oh god yes, he would have so been taken, claimed and owned by the beautiful boy in the photo.

            “When was this?” Thorin asked handing the photo back.

            “I was fifteen; about to turn sixteen actually,” Bilbo said and Thorin made a note that he would have been just twenty then. “That was the day of my first kiss.” Bilbo added quietly.

            “Really?!” Thorin was surprised at the memory, but a tiny part of him was jealous that he wasn’t the one to bestow it on his love.

            “It was Ori’s sixteenth birthday,” Bilbo said, “and later, Nori drove me home and I stole a kiss.”

            “ _You_ stole it?” Thorin asked a smirk.

            “Absolutely,” Bilbo said looking rather pleased with himself. “Nori and I were talking and at one point, I just leaned over and stole a kiss. Of course, I jumped out of the car and ran off—totally embarrassed mind you, but I did it.”

            “You saucy little minx!” That made them both laugh.

            “I was starting to fall for him at that point.”

            “Really—what about him?”

            “You know, I can’t say,” Bilbo answered truthfully. “We never talked about that kiss afterwards and he was still as nice to me as he was before. But as the next few years went on, I think there was something there with him too, but he was older and he was always coming and going. And by the time I turned seventeen, Nori was off in the merchant navy and I didn’t see him again for almost seven years. God only knows what would have been if he had stayed, I left Lobelia’s and went off to university.”

            “Now, who’s Lobelia?” Thorin asked.

            “My aunt,” Bilbo stated, his face going a bit stony in Thorin’s opinion. “Well, actually, she was the wife of my father’s first cousin, Otho, but I called them Aunt and Uncle.”

            “Otho,” Thorin said slowly. Something about the name sounded familiar. “What’s their last name?”

            “Sackville-Baggins,” Bilbo answered.

            “Sackville-Baggins,” Thorin repeated. “Are they posh?”

            “Not, per se,” Bilbo stated, “but they _are_ well known in Brighton’s limited society.”

            “Did they have any kids?” Thorin was getting closer, he could feel it.

            “A son, Lotho,” Bilbo replied.

            “That’s it!” Thorin said. “Nasty kid; face like a Pug?”

            Bilbo laughed bitterly. “That would be him.”

            “I remember when I was kid,” Thorin said, lost in a memory. “We used to come down to Brighton to stay at my Uncle Groin’s place—”

            “You mentioned that.”

            “A few times, my father and uncles threw parties for some of the well-offs here in town—to do a little business while on holiday—and I remember this snot-nosed kid, always messing about with Frerin and Dis—and his parents, the father was a prat and the mother was very sycophantic, even back then I remember being put off by her.”

            “That sounds like Otho and Lobelia.”

            “God, you’re related to them?! You poor thing.”

            “I was raised by them.”

            “What?!” Thorin didn’t remember ever seeing Bilbo.

            “When I was ten; I went to live with them after my parents died.”

            Two things rushed into Thorin’s mind then, quickly he realized that Bilbo was there years after they had stopped coming and there was a momentary pang of disappointment, but that was quickly overwhelmed by sympathy for Bilbo’s parents.

            “I’m sorry, babe,” Thorin said, reaching out and taking one of Bilbo’s hands in his own.

            “It’s okay,” Bilbo said, squeezing Thorin’s hand and giving him a small smile. “As much as I still miss them, I’m thankful they died together. I think it would have been horrible for one or the other to have gone on with out the other one.”

            “But you were left alone,” Thorin’s only concern was Bilbo.

            “Nothing for it,” Bilbo said, now thinking about the years without his parents. “Of course, Lobelia always told me it would have been better had I died with them.”

            Thorin felt sick. “She _said_ that to you?!”

            Bilbo just nodded. “Often; always out of earshot of outsiders, of course. She would tell me that the only thing I was good for was to remind others what happens when trash breeds, or that I was a good example of why abortions should be more acceptable. Her favorites though were that I should have died instead of or with mum and dad, and telling her friends the pain of having to raise a skanky, gormless nancy-boy.”

            Thorin wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing what Bilbo had endured or the chilling way he described it in such a matter-of-fact, impassive manner. His own father had been hard on him and Frerin but Thorin had been older when it started and his siblings and he had had each other; but Bilbo had been a child, alone and grieving for his parents who couldn’t protect him—had anyone?

            “Was there no one to help you?” Thorin asked, almost knowing the answer.

            “I used to tell Ori,” Bilbo said quietly. “But his oldest Brother didn’t believe me and the only ones that really knew of Lobelia’s opinions and beatings were her friends and they didn’t care.”

            “Wait,” Thorin could feel his anger rising. “She _beat_ you as well?!”

            “Never anywhere that there would be a mark,” Bilbo said in that same factual tone that made the hair on Thorin’s neck stand up. Bilbo could see Thorin’s expression darken and he rushed to placate it, or so he thought. “Thorin it’s fine—”

            “It is so _not_ fine!” Thorin was disgusted at the thought that someone, anyone, touching Bilbo— _his_ Bilbo, _his love_ —in such a manner.

            “It’s not like she used a belt or cane,” Bilbo said with a shrug. “She only used her hands.”

            “And how is that better?!” Thorin truly wanted to know.

            “Because it’s long over with,” Bilbo said softly and Thorin stilled, if only a bit. “Once I turned eighteen, I left, entered university and that was it.”

            “She should have been held accountable,” Thorin was truly angry. How could this woman do this and get away with it? “Why didn’t you say something to someone?”

            “Who would believe me?” Bilbo said resigned. “She had the town fooled into thinking she was the great martyr for taking me in. All she and Otho really wanted was the money and the land my parent’s house sat on, once they got it, she didn’t care what happened to me after that.”

            “You should have fought her.” Thorin would have. “You should have taken her to the authorities and—”

            “And what, Thorin?” Bilbo asked huffing. “Would it have brought back my parents? Would it have erased the years I lived with them?”

            “Well, no, but—”

            “I can see you’re upset,” Bilbo said, taking Thorin’s hands and calming him. “But, honestly, all I wanted was to get away from them. I was so tired by the time left for university; I would have gladly, _given_ them the money just to get away. And the house was bulldozed from what I heard so what was there to go back to?”

            “I just don’t see how they got your inheritance,” Thorin just couldn’t let it go. It truly made his blood boil to think of all that Bilbo had endured, only to end up walking away with nothing at all.

            “I don’t know,” Bilbo said. “I told you I have no head for numbers or business for that matter, so I really can’t say. But frankly, it’s long done with and no one would have helped me.”

 _I would have! I would have fought for you every step of the way!_ But Thorin knew it was a ridiculous fantasy. He didn’t even know Bilbo then and it was a little late to play the white knight at this stage. “It just bloody pisses me off,” Thorin snarled.

            “I can see that,” Bilbo said giving Thorin’s hands a squeeze. “It’s kind of scary in a way but I love you all the more for it.”

            Thorin deflated a bit. “I’m sorry, love. That’s not the side of me I wanted you to see this morning.” He gave Bilbo a small smile.

            Bilbo returned Thorin’s smile with a sweet one of his own. “Well, it’s not directed _at_ me, so I think we’re alright.” Bilbo leaned forward and Thorin met him halfway, sharing a kiss that made some of the darkness of Bilbo’s story dissipate. “I only ever want to make you happy,” Bilbo whispered against Thorin’s lips as they pulled apart.

            “And you do, love,” Thorin said, leaning in and planting a sweet kiss to the corner of Bilbo’s mouth.

            “Why don’t we,” Bilbo stated as he moved onto Thorin’s lap and wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck, “take a shower, and then head out for a bit of shopping, maybe a late lunch then play the rest of the day by ear. How’s does that sound?”

            “As long as I’m with you,” Thorin said gently, “I need nothing else.”

            Bilbo graced Thorin with a sweet, languorous kiss. “Come,” Bilbo murmured as he stood and gentle tugged on Thorin’s hands to have him follow.

            “What about the dishes?” Thorin said teasingly as he stood.

            “You can stay and clean up,” Bilbo said as he turned and started unbuttoning Thorn’s shirt, then let it drop to give Thorin a view of his naked backside as he threw his love an innocent look over his shoulder and saying, “Or you can join me in the shower.” With that, Bilbo walked through the bedroom and went into the bathroom, leaving a slightly stunned Thorin standing in his wake.

            “Fuck the dishes,” Thorin said and started stripping himself.

            Bilbo was just stepping into the shower when Thorin followed him. The water was warm and, again, Thorin ducked down to wet himself all over then stepping aside for Bilbo to do the same. Naturally, Thorin couldn’t keep from wrapping his arms around Bilbo from behind and kissing his little one all down the sides of his neck and nuzzling his ears.

            Bilbo turned and kissed Thorin deeply while at the same time, reaching for the soap. As Bilbo pulled back, he made a rather startling discovery.

            “Oh my god,” Bilbo said, moving the thick hair on Thorin’s chest around. “I didn’t notice you have a tattoo on your chest.”

            “I used to clip my chest hair short,” Thorin stated. “But haven’t felt I needed to in the last few years.”

            The tattoo covered almost three-quarters of Thorin’s left pec, and was a deep red heart, with white wings edged in black coming from behind while across the front there was a banner; that was blank.

 

**_THORIN'S TATTOO_ **

 

            “It’s beautiful,” Bilbo said admirably. “But there’s no name on it.”

            “I’ve been waiting for the right one,” Thorin said, gently cupping Bilbo’s face with both hands and leaning down for another long, deep kiss.

            Nothing more was said and their lovemaking was, as the night before, soft and tender; both feeling complete and connected to the other in ways they had never had with anyone else.

            As Bilbo had wished, once the dishes were done, they headed out. They did shop at The Lanes and Bilbo spent over an hour in a bookstore that specialized in poetry. They ended up having lunch at the vegetarian place, Terre a Terre, and Thorin reluctantly admitted that he enjoyed it more than he thought. In the early afternoon they walked Stanmer Park and had tea before finally heading back to the flat.

            It was on the way back that they had their first ‘fight.’

            “I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” Bilbo said as he unlocked the door.

            “You’re just mad because you can’t back-up your argument,” Thorin replied strongly.

            “Must I remind you that out of the two of us,” Bilbo countered. “I’m the literature professor?”

            “Just because you have an _O-level_ in dusty old books,” Thorin snarked, “doesn’t automatically mean you’re all-knowing.”

            “Maybe not,” Bilbo shot back, “but I do believe it does make my point valid.” Bilbo put down his purchases on the built-in table.

            “Personally,” Thorin said setting down his purchases next to Bilbo’s, “I think you’re splitting hairs.”

            “All I’m saying,” Bilbo continued, as he kicked off his shoes, “is that sonnet one-sixteen, is not a love poem; Barrett-Browning’s sonnet forty-three or Sidney’s _The Bargain_ are love poems. Shakespeare was writing his opinion and comments on the _nature of love_ , while Barrett-Browning and Sidney were writing poems specifically _expressing love_ for the object of their affection.”

            “See, that’s what I mean,” Thorin retorted, picking up Bilbo’s shoes and his own and putting them in the bedroom, “ _you’re_ splitting hairs; just because Shakespeare was only expressing his opinion about love, doesn’t change the fact that it’s _about_ love.”

            “You’re grasping for straws to support your incorrect assumption at this point.”

            “I’m sorry, but when someone writes, _“Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests, and is never shaken”,_ tell me how that isn’t love!”

            Bilbo just stood there and stared at Thorin for a minute; transfixed. “Say that again,” Bilbo whispered just loud enough for Thorin to hear. Thorin smiled and gently repeated the quote from Shakespeare’s sonnet one-sixteen.

            Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck and Thorin bend forward to rest their foreheads together.

            “Have you any idea,” Bilbo said carding his fingers over Thorin’s close-cropped hair, “how hot it is for a big, burly guy to recite love poetry, by heart?”

            “Oh, yeah?” Thorin said rubbing his nose with Bilbo’s. “Why don’t you recite something and let me find out how hot it can be when a beautiful man does it.”

            “ _My true love hath my heart_ ,” Bilbo murmured softly, “ _and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one. My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides. He loves my heart, for once it was his own. I cherish his because in me it bides_ ”

            “I know Browning’s poem,” Thorin said, “is that by that Sidney bloke?”

            “Yes,” Bilbo confirmed. “Sir Philip Sidney; he was an Elizabethan poet.”

            “Say it again,” Thorin said turning his head and kissing the side of Bilbo’s neck.

            “My true love hath my heart,” Bilbo whispered.

            “And I have his,” Thorin whispered in reply just as he caught Bilbo’s lips with his own for a moment. “Can we have make-up sex now?”

            “You’re insatiable,” Bilbo giggled.

            “Is that a yes?” Thorin ask swiping his tongue along Bilbo’s lips.

            “Of course it is,” Bilbo said pulling Thorin to the bedroom.

            Hours later, when neither wanted to get dressed to go beyond the living room and Thorin didn’t want Bilbo away form his side for longer than five minutes, it was decided that the best option was order pizza—half pepperoni/half veggie, lounge about the place, snuggling on the couch and watch movies.

            But Thorin didn’t realize what his choice would bring.

            Thorin had never really like fantasy movies or anything esoteric or obscure. Even the sci-fi movies he enjoyed needed to have some kind of logic or believable basis for him to enjoy it. He thought Peter Jackson’s _The Lovely Bones_ was a good example. Sure it portrayed the afterlife but Thorin could believe in it and understand it, it felt real. However, he failed to notice how the movie slowly pulled Bilbo into his own fears.

            “I thought that was great,” Thorin said, stretching his arms above his head. “I love Stanley Tucci. That man can bloody act, let me tell—” Thorin was stopped by the loud, audible sniff next to him. He turned and found Bilbo was crying and breathing raggedly. “Sweetheart, what’s the—”

            “She never came home,” Bilbo whispered hoarsely.

            “What?”

            “She was just gone,” Bilbo continued. “She said, _‘I was here for a moment and then I was gone.’_ ”

            Thorin started to feel a little panicky, as he had the night before when he told Bilbo he was deploying. “It’s just a movie, babe. That’s all it—”

            “She never came home,” Bilbo repeated as if not hearing Thorin. “Just like Mum and Dad did.”

            _Oh no, fuck! Why the hell didn’t I think about this?_ Thorin needed to get control of the situation. “Bilbo, sweetie, it’s completely—”

            “Nori did the same thing,” Bilbo stated quietly. “I got a voice message he was going into work and then he just never came home.”

            Thorin wasn’t sure what to say, but when Bilbo turned to him, there was a haunted, pleading look that tore at Thorin’s heart.

            “What if you don’t?” Bilbo asked in a hollow voice. “You’re going away. What if you never come home?”

            Thorin gathered Bilbo to him, holding him close and protectively. “I’m coming home, Bilbo,” Thorin said as he buried his nose into Bilbo’s curls. “Do you hear me?”

            “You can’t promise me that, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered back. “You know you can’t.”

            Thorin pulled back and turned Bilbo’s face so that he could look into those hazel-green eyes that he loved. “I. Promise. I’m coming home, Bilbo Baggins. I _am_ coming home to you.”

            “For the first time in my life,” Bilbo said quietly, “I feel safe and warm, even cherished. I don’t want to go back to the way things were; I don’t want to lose you too.”

            “You are cherished, Bilbo,” Thorin said, once again, holding his love close. “And I will protect you; you’re safe. Just hold on those feelings because you’re safe with me and I will return home to you.”

            All talk ended after that and Bilbo gladly snuggled close to Thorin in the dark of the night, comforted by Thorin’s touch and love. Thorin as perfectly aware that his words rang hollow compared to the reality of war, but he swore that he would keep his promise to Bilbo and he knew before the night was done, what he needed to do for Bilbo to tangibly hold on to the promise made.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_\- NOW -_ **

 

            After his shower and a quick bite, Thorin had gone with Dis, Vili and the boys and spent the afternoon in Hyde Park. He didn’t run around anymore but he could kick the football about and Kili, who had always been close to his Uncle Thorin and still was, happily chased it and brought it back—every time. Even Fili, who at fifteen had entered that phase of teenage rebellion, had enjoyed himself to a point—if ‘enjoy’ could be used with a boy that was a bit too much like his grandfather for his mother’s, father’s and uncle’s tastes. But there were no worries yet.

            Thorin took them all out to dinner; a rare treat for Dis’ family, as Vili always thought it important to have dinner at home, as a family; it was the least Thorin felt he could do for them for putting up with him. Afterwards they decided to go to the cinema—which, of course, could not be agreed on. Dis, Vili and Fili wanted to see _The World’s End_ , however, Kili wanted to see _The Wolverine_. At first Dis didn’t want to split up, but Thorin was more than happy to take Kili, so in the end, Thorin and Kili went alone to see the latest Marvel movie.

            Naturally, there was a call for ice cream after the movie from Kili, which once again, was answered by his Uncle Thorin. Dis informed her brother that since he was the one plying her youngest with sugary treats this late in the evening, he could bloody well sit up with Kili. This didn’t bother either Uncle or nephew in the slightest.

            By the time nine o’clock rolled around, Vili announced it was bedtime. Fili just rolled his eyes and took himself to bed, convinced he didn’t want or need to be tucked in _‘like some baby’_ which was pointedly directed at his brother. Kili stated that he didn’t need it either and Fili could _‘shut up’_ about it. But when Kili caught Thorin’s eye, Thorin took the hint and gladly accompanied Kili to his bedroom.

            “Thanks for going with me to the movie, Uncle Thorin,” Kili said once Thorin made sure he was snug in bed.

            “You’re more welcome,” Thorin said with a wink. “We mates have gotta stick together.” Kili gave a Thorin a beaming smile. “Good-night,” Thorin gave Kili a kiss on his forehead and made to leave but was stopped by his nephew.

            “Uncle Thorin?” Kili asked softly

            “Yeah, Kili?”

            Kili hesitated for a few long moments before asking, “Why are you sad?”

            Thorin stood still and willed his face into expressing nothing. “What makes you think I’m sad?”

            Kili shrugged and looked at his lap. “I don’t know. You just seem sad a lot.” Kili looked at Thorin imploringly.

            _Do I? Leave it to you to see it, you little scamp._ Thorin slowly sat on the edge of Kili’s bed and gave his nephew a small smile. “You don’t have to worry about me, mate. I’m perfectly fine.”

            “I asked Gran about it and she said you just need to settle down,” Kili stated matter-of-factly.

            “Did she, now,” Thorin stated flatly.

            “Yes,” Kili nodded, oblivious to Thorin’s sarcasm. “But Grandad said you just needed to knock over some lady—”

            _JUMPING JESUS ON A POGOSTICK!_    Thorin would have gladly strangled his father right then but concentrated on keeping the smile on his face, lest he upset Kili.

            “—but,” Kili continued unaware of Thorin’s inner struggle, “Mum says that Grandad is full of rubbish and not to listen to him, because you like boys instead.”

            _Note to self,_ Thorin thought just nodding and not saying a word, _kill Dad first, then maim Dis._ “And how do you feel about that?” Thorin asked quietly.

            “I think it’s cool,” Kili said with a shrug. “I mean, you don’t want to be like everyone else, do you?” Kili scrunched up his nose and seemed to think that the idea was completely ridiculous.

            “No, of course not,” Thorin had to hand it to his nephew; he called it like he saw it.

            “So you should find a boy and get married,” Kili said with a smile. “Then you won’t be sad all the time.”

            _If only it were that easy._ “I’ll see what I can do,” Thorin said gently.

            “Just make sure they’re funny,” Kili said in all seriousness. “That helps.”

            “That’s a good point,” Thorin was having a hard time not laughing. “Anything else I should look for?” He shouldn’t encourage this but it was too hard not to.

            “Well,” Kili said sitting up straight as if he had been waiting to be asked. “They should be cute and smart! Because that way, when they aren’t making you laugh, you have someone to talk to about important things like work and Man-U.”

            “I see what you mean,” Thorin said nodding.

            “Oh!” Kili got wide-eyed. “They should also be brilliant at cooking! Like Dad; because you have to eat.”

            “Okay,” Thorin said doing all he could to remain serious. “So they need to be funny, cute, smart and be able to fix dinner.”

            “Well, all meals really,” Kili added just to make sure Thorin understood.

            “Absolutely.”

            “I know when I get married; my boyfriend will have all those things.”

            “Oh, are going to marry a boy?”

            “Maybe,” Kili answered earnestly, clearly turning the idea over in his head. “I do like some girls—but not all. I mostly like other boys—but not all. Although, Fili said I have to make a choice because it’s the law or something.”

            “Is that what he said?” Thorin worried for his eldest nephew. _Too damn much like Thrain._ “You know you don’t have to choose if you don’t want to.”

            “Really?” Kili looked really pleased. “That’s brilliant! That means I have more choices.”

            “Exactly.” Thorin had to smile at that.

            “But it’s okay if you choose, Uncle Thorin,” Kili said, being serious again. “You just need to find you a boyfriend.”

            “I’ll work on that.” Thorin truly loved his nephew to pieces.

            “Good,” Kili nodded, obviously happy at how the conversation had turned out. “I love you, Uncle Thorin.”

            “Love you too,” Thorin kissed Kili again on his forehead, walked to the bedroom door. “Good night, Kee.” Thorin reached for the light switch but his hand was stayed.

            “Uncle Thorin?”

            “Yes, Kili?”

            “Don’t forget; when you find someone, make sure you love them,” Kili said as Thorin just stood still and didn’t move. “You can’t get married at all if you don’t love them.”

            “I’ll remember that, Kili,” Thorin said, suddenly feeling too warm.

            “You _promise_ , Uncle Thorin?”

            Thorin’s throat went a little dry but he made himself answer. “I promise, Kili.”

            “Good night, Uncle.”

            “Good night,” Thorin responded as he turned off the light.

            Thorin went to the guest room and closed the door. His heart was beating just a bit too fast and he couldn’t quite shut out Kili’s words, nor could he shut Bilbo out of his thoughts. Part of him screamed to hold on to the hate that swirled within but he couldn’t hold it for long; it was slipping through his fingers like sand. He didn’t want to think on it but he couldn’t help it; Kili would have loved Bilbo and he was positive that Bilbo would have loved Kili in return.

            _Oh, Bilbo, why couldn’t you have stayed? Why did you go? Why couldn’t you have at least_ tried _to love me again?_

Thorin received no answer to his questions, not that—after three years—he expected one. So in the end, he turned off the bedside lamp and lay down. Thanks to the fullness of the day, sleep was gracious enough to pay him a visit. But in the end, sleep was less than gracious about staying.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems referenced are 
> 
> 1\. Wm Shakespeare's Sonnet 116  
> 2\. Elizabeth Barrett-Browings' Sonnet 43  
> 3\. Sir Philp Sidney's 'The Bargain'
> 
> \-----------
> 
> The last line in the movie, The Lovely Bones, is actually -- "My name is Salmon, like the fish; first name Susie. I was 14 years old when I was murdered on December 6, 1973. I was here for a moment and then I was gone. I wish you all a long and happy life."


	12. SUNDAY - The End of The Beginning, Part 1

* * *

 

**_THREE YEARS PRIOR_ **

 

            He should have known better.

            He should have known it would happen.

            The weekend was too wonderful, too ‘perfect.’ And he knew, the happier he was, the more likely he was to have one.

            Then again, there was never anything in particular that _triggered_ the attacks, they just happened. Sometimes they hit in the day, in the brightness of the afternoon; like a bolt out of the blue. Sometimes they hit when he was driving, forcing him to pull over and wait until he was able to make it home; but those attacks were rare. Most often, however, they snuck up on him in the dark of the night or early morning, when there was no sun or light to chase away the shadows.

            The attacks would start with a dream. There was never a remembrance of the dreams themselves, but Bilbo would wake with shortness of breath and a vague feeling of dread. Then a slow, creeping feeling of being watched would follow; the hair on the back of his neck would prickle and stand up; his skin turning clammy. Finally, a heavy, sinking feeling of sorrow enveloped him, evolving into an icy despair that he could feel down to his bones; a cold that no heat or warmth could touch.

            All this led to the resounding echoes of Otho and Lobelia’s voices in his head.

            _You must have a low opinion of others, if you think_ you’re _their equal!_

Bilbo wanted to blame the movie from the night before, for the anxiety and doubt, but that would be a cop out and even he knew it. He had gone to bed with Thorin and felt warm and safe and lovely as he drifted off. But now, at 03:00, in the early morning, all those feelings had bled away, like a chalk drawing in the rain.

Bilbo sat curled up in the wicker chair in the corner of his bedroom, hugging his knees to his chest. Even in the grey darkness of his room, he could see Thorin sleeping in his bed—as beautiful in sleep as he was awake, and Bilbo could just make out Thorin’s chest rising and falling rhythmically. A soft, rumbled sort of snore would escape occasionally, but Bilbo already loved that sound, it spoke of comfort and warmth—two things he simply could not feel at that moment.

            _The world would be a better place without you in it!_

“What are you doing over there,” Thorin’s whisper carried through the inky darkness and shook Bilbo out of his thoughts.

            _Whatever your problems are, save them. Don’t bother the rest of us with it!_

            Bilbo smiled, hoping it would be heard if not seen. “Couldn’t sleep.”

            _Why can't you just be normal?_

            “Why didn’t you wake me?” Thorin replied quietly.

            _Christ! Just looking at you makes me depressed!_

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Bilbo said softly.

            “Come back to bed, babe,” Thorin whispered sleepily and Bilbo could see Thorin holding out his hand for Bilbo to take.

            _Maybe if you weren’t such a misery, people would care about you!_

“I’m alright,” Bilbo murmured. “You need to sleep yourself.”

            _If everyone has a reason for living, I must say, yours still eludes us!_

Bilbo could hear Thorin’s smirk. “Either you come back to bed with me, or I stay awake with you.”

            Bilbo knew he was losing the battle and he did so want to be near Thorin. There was nothing for it; Bilbo went back over and crawled under the covers next to the warm and steady rock that was Thorin.

            “You’re cold,” Thorin whispered running his hands down Bilbo’s arms and then wrapping his own arms around Bilbo to draw them close. “I’ll warm you up.”

            _Pathetic is the only word one can use to describe you._

Bilbo laid there and very soon, Thorin’s gentle snoring resumed; his strong, muscular arms around Bilbo, holding him close.

            _Your absence is the only thing about you people like._

            Bilbo laid there and although he knew that Thorin was the last and only person he would ever love in his life, he also made a vow to himself then and there; he would die rather than let Thorin know how unworthy Bilbo truly was of his love.

            As Otho had repeatedly told him over and over, _People get what they deserve; that’s why you deserve nothing!_

\-----ooooo-----

 

            Bilbo woke with a start and realized that he had been dreaming.

            _No, not dreaming,_ Bilbo told himself, _remembering._ Yet, it was vivid and unsettling. It had been almost two years since that dark voice had plagued him, although it had tried whispering to him on Friday when he stood on the bridge.

            No, he refused to lose ground and go back.

            He wouldn’t go back.

            Bilbo rolled over and looked at the clock. 05:27.

            He just couldn’t lie there; not anymore. Taking a deep breath, he got up, padded his way to the bathroom, took a washcloth and patted his face with cool water. Slowly waking up, he took a good long look at himself in the mirror. Only, this wasn’t one of those long looks to see what has aged or anything superficial. This was a long look into his eyes, a long look at the only person who could do something about what was going on; himself.

            Bilbo took a deep breath, lifted his chin and realized; enough was enough.

            For too long he had let it all fester in him and it was time to get it out; time to let it go. He had gone through hell; both in his life and in his heart. He had survived Otho and Lobelia—truly, _survived_ was the only word for it, and he had made it through losing Thorin—although that had almost finished him completely. And while he freely admitted he loved, still loved— _would always love_ —Thorin, it was time to get this all out and move on. There had to be closure of some kind. One way or another, this had to resolve. It had to end.

            Bilbo Baggins had reached his limit.      

 

\-----ooooo-----

           

            “What’s all this?” Dori asked with a smile as he walked into the kitchen.

            “Thought I would make _you_ breakfast for a change,” Bilbo said, bringing the last of the food to the table. It was nice to be cooking, frankly. It was a simple act that brought Bilbo back to basics, made everything more _normal_. “There is tea, and it will just be a minute or so, then I can press the coffee.”

            Dori took his seat and started pouring tea. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

            “It’s no trouble, honestly” Bilbo said. _Not yet anyway._

            “So what is on your agenda for today?” Dori started buttering his toast and eyeing the hard-boiled eyes.

            “I’m heading home,” Bilbo said casually and waited.

            As Bilbo expected, Dori sat there stunned for a minute. “Home?” Dori finally got out.

            “Yes,” Bilbo confirmed. “It’s time to head back.”

            “But,” Dori said, coming back to his senses, “are you sure you won’t stay until tomorrow as you had planned?”

            “I’d love to,” Bilbo stated. “However, I feel that I am avoiding the problems, not facing them.”

            “Don’t you think you can be forgiven that,” Dori asked softly, “especially considering what you’ve been through?”

            “If this was a new problem,” Bilbo said, “then I would agree that a little retreat and regrouping would be in order. But this isn’t a new problem, this is an old one, one that hasn’t been dealt with; not properly anyway.”

            Dori only sat there. Bilbo knew Dori well enough to know that part of him agreed with Bilbo. But Bilbo was also aware of Dori’s overwhelming urge to protect and care for others; one only had to chat with Ori to understand that. And now that Bilbo and Dori had cleared the air between them, Dori had almost been mothering him. Bilbo was touched, he really was, but it wasn’t the best thing right now.

            “When are leaving then?” Dori asked with a resigned sigh.

            “Later this morning,” Bilbo offered. “That way, I can be home just after lunch and have today in my own space to get my head on straight and prepare to see Andy tomorrow and move forward.”

            Dori reached across the table and took one of Bilbo’s hands in his own. “If you need anything, or feel you need to come back … don’t call, don’t ask, just come.”

            “Thank you, Dori,” Bilbo squeezed Dori’s hand in return. He did appreciate the gesture.

            When Bilbo was finally packed later and Dori drove him to the train station, Bilbo felt good, it felt right. He need to go back, he _had_ to go back. Things had to be settled, one way or another, they had to be finished.

            The train car was almost empty except for two older ladies and young man who looked like he was a student at the university.

            Bilbo took a seat facing towards the back of the train—he had never liked facing the same way as the train was moving. He smiled at himself for that; his mother used to say it was time travel—you were sitting there and you can see everything passing you by as if you were moving backwards and it made her feel like she was getting younger and younger. Bilbo wished right then he could back in time, not too far, just a few years and really change what happened.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Is Uncle Thorin coming to breakfast?” Kili asked with as much excited anticipation as when he asked if they were going to Disneyland Paris.

            “Yes, darling,” Dis said as she poured coffee for herself and her brother, who hadn’t followed her directly. “He’s just getting up.”

            “YAY!” Kili cheered and did a little dance, which won him an epic eye roll from his older brother.

            “Have they found a _cure_ for what’s wrong with you, yet?” Fili snarked at Kili.

            “No,” Kili said with mock seriousness, “they’re still working on a cure for your _face_.”

            Fili puffed up like an adder. “You know what you are?!” Fili started but Kili cut him off.

            “No,” Kili said was wave of his hand, “but you can write it on a piece of paper and I’ll read it later.” Kili turned and marched out of the kitchen with an incensed Fili right on his tail. Fili’s increasing snarking and Kili’s deft evasiveness almost endearing to Dis and Vili.

            “Should we be worried?” Dis asked taking sip of coffee and not sounding the least bit worried at all.

            “Nah,” Vili replied putting food on everyone’s plate. “I was more worried for you when you went to wake up Thorin!”

            Dis laughed at that, because it wasn’t too far from the truth. Thorin hated being woken up.

            “What did he say?” Vili asked; always amused at Thorin and Dis’ interplay.

            “He said,” Dis answered with a smile, “and I quote, _‘You know what’s great about being woken up by your sister, early, on a Sunday morning? Nothing.’_ ”

            Suddenly there was the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

            “Oh, damn,” Dis said. “We may have to think of alternatives to our outing.”

            “We could always sit around,” Vili offered, “and watch the boys spar.”

            “In other words,” Dis added as she walked out, “a normal day.”

            Vili laughed and followed her into the dining room.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            As much as he wanted to smack his sister, it really was best for him to get up. He hadn’t been sleeping all that soundly anyway. Now he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and taking a good long look at himself.

            There was the long, almost cruel looking ‘V’ shaped scar that ran from his forehead, just below the hairline, skipped over his left eye— _thank God for the bloody goggles_ —and then continued down his cheek to the top of his beard. But the tired eyes, coupled with the ever-spreading crows feet and deepening scowl lines of his forehead that seemed to be even worse.

            _Not quite the handsome face it used to be,_ he thought. _Not like some._

            Bilbo had still been beautiful, at least to Thorin. Pale skin with that tinge of pink that Thorin had loved; face still smooth without the mar of wrinkles; _Bilbo will probably look like a young student when he’s in his late forties._ Bilbo still had his curls, although they were only on top now; the sides and back cut short. And his eyes were still those dazzling hazel-green that seemed to change color and mesmerized Thorin, rooting him where he stood.

            _Beautiful._

            But Thorin now remember something else, something very unpleasant. Closing his eyes, Thorin could see Bilbo standing in the café, looking stunned and— _was he scared? Oh, Christ, Bilbo had looked scared and pained._ The faint echo of Bilbo’s broken voice as he said Thorn’s name resounded in his mind.

Thorin felt sick again. He had been nauseated off and on all weekend, not to mention having trouble sleeping—although that wasn’t really new.

            “Uncle Thorin?” Kili’s called from what sounded like the guest bedroom door.

            “Yes, Kili,” Thorin answered through the bathroom door.

            “Mum says your breakfast is getting cold,” Kili said, now clearly just on the other side of the door. “She said if you don’t come soon, she’ll feed it to the dog.”

            Thorin almost laughed. “You don’t have a dog.”

            “That’s what I said!” Kili responded, obviously on Thorin’s side. “But she said any stray dog would do.”

            “I’ll be right there, mate,” Thorin said.

            “Good!” Kili sounded pleased. “I’ll make sure to save you the best bits!”

            “Thank you,” Thorin replied as he heard Kili take off.

            Thorin stood there for a minute more, staring at the person in the mirror. The person he was starting to see clearly for the first time in a very long time. The person he wasn’t so sure about anymore.        

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            There was a phone ringing.

            And it was annoying.

            Dwalin opened his eyes slowly as he breathed in Ori’s scent. They were spooned together and Dwalin enjoyed that wondrous feeling of his semi-hard cock pressed firmed in the groove of Ori’s lovely, round arse. Dwalin tightened his arms, pulling Ori closer so that Dwalin was able to nuzzle a soft, pink ear and tickle his face with Ori’s ginger waves. It was a lovely way to wake up.

            Until the phone started ringing— _again._

Ori took a gentle breath in. “Tell whoever that is,” Ori breathed out sweetly without opening his eyes, “to sod off.”

            Dwalin couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “And what if it’s an emergency, love?” Dwalin planted a whiskered kiss on Ori’s neck, which made the smaller man hum in pleasure.

            “The only emergency,” Ori said, still not opening his eyes, “will be my murder of whoever it is on the other end.”

            As his mind slowly focused, Dwalin realized that it was _his_ phone that was ringing and even more sadly found that said phone was _not_ right next to the bed. Forced now to get up, Dwalin slowly turned over, sat up, stretched—relishing the pops and snaps of his shoulders and neck, grabbed his boxers and went to dig his phone out of his pants pocket.

            He had missed four calls and groaned when he saw who they were from.

            “Sorry, love,” Dwalin said, “But this is business. I’ll take it in the study.” Dwalin started pulling on his pants and the shirt he was wore the night before.

            “Who bloody calls on a fucking Sunday for business?” Ori asked sitting up, blinking himself awake. “Everyone should be sleeping in.”

            Dwalin smirked at Ori. “Remember someone destroying my schedule on Tuesday, because they wanted me to take them to lunch?”

            Ori was awake now. “I … _vaguely_ recall … something along those lines.” Ori chanced a look at Dwalin but saw that his lover smirking.

            “Well,” Dwalin said, twisting his waist and stretching some more to clearly wake up fully. “These calls are from a couple I put off in exchange for having lunch with a gorgeous ginger I know.”

            “I’m sorry,” Ori said with a sheepish smile that in no way hid the fact that he wasn’t really sorry at all.

            Dwalin came back, leaned over the bed and kissed Ori properly. “I’m not.”

            With that Dwalin left the room and Ori heard _‘Good morning, Fannie’_ from the hallway as Dwalin headed to his study.

            Ori stretched himself and got up, looking for his own clothes. Pants, tee shirt and socks were all on and Ori was just about to head out of the bedroom when his own phone went off.

            Pulling it out of his back pocket, he saw it was from Bilbo.

            “Good morning,” Ori said.

            “Good morning to you too,” Bilbo said brightly. “I hope I didn’t disturb anything?”

            “Nah,” Ori said with another stretch. “That was already interrupted by a business call fro Dwalin.”

            “Oh, sorry to hear that.”

            “Let’s say it was a price I had to pay eventually.”

            “I’m sorry?” Bilbo’s confusion got Ori laughing.

            “I’ll tell you later,” Ori stated. “So, what’s up?”

            “I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home.”

            “You’re heading home _today_?” Ori said surprised.

            “I’m actually on the train now,” Bilbo answered. “I hope that won’t be a problem for you?”

            “Not at all! We’re still out at Windsor,” Ori assured his best friend. “How are you feeling?”

            “Good,” Bilbo stated. “I wanted to head home early to spend some time alone.”

            “Alone?” Ori didn’t like the sound of that _._

            “Yes,” Bilbo said gently. “I’m perfectly fine, believe me. I just wanted to have today to sort of … get my bearings before seeing Andy tomorrow. I do feel much better.”

            Ori had to admit that Bilbo did _sound_ better. “I’m sure he will have a thing or two to say about all this.”

            “No doubt,” Bilbo said softly. “Especially, considering I’ve never told him about Thorin.”

            “What?!” Ori was amazed. “How is that possible after seeing him for two years?!”

            Bilbo huffed out a sigh. “I’ve been very vague. He knows there was someone and that I was … passed over, let’s say. But I never told him Thorin’s name or the fine details—he didn’t need all that to help me get through.”

            “Passed over?” Had Ori heard that right? “What do you mean _passed over_?” And did Bilbo just admit that Thorin was part of the very reason he even sees Andy?

            “Sorry,” Bilbo said. “Forget I said that.”

            “Oh, no; you did promise to tell me,” Ori pointed out.

            “Yes, _after_ I spoke with Andy and only _if_ Thorin tells at least Dwalin.”

            “Bilbo—,” Ori said with a little pout.

            “Please don’t push,” Bilbo said but he didn’t sound too upset to Ori. “This truly isn’t easy for me.”

            Ori felt guilty. “I’m sorry; you’re right. This isn’t some rom-com or TV show.”

            “Thank you.”

            “I’ll try to be patient.”

            “Yeah, and we both know how well you do patience.”

            “I’d tell you to piss-off, but since you know me so well, I don’t have to say it.”

            Bilbo laughed and that sounded good to Ori—he felt more relieved.

            “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Bilbo said.

            “Travel safe,” Ori replied as they both rang off.

            Ori’s mind started turning things over. _What did he mean passed over? Passed over for what? Or was it_ who _?_ Ori shook his head. _That doesn’t sound right. Dwalin said that Thorin hasn’t had a relationship in years—well, except for Bilbo. Could it be for work or something to do with the company? Was it his family? But that doesn’t make sense either. Both Dwalin and, from what Dwalin said, Dis are both very supportive of Thorin._ _And now I find out that Thorin could possibly be the catalyst for Bilbo’s incident?!_

            Ori was lost in his musing when he felt two strong arms wrap around his waist and he was pulled into a warm embrace.

            “All done, babe,” Dwalin said as he nuzzled Ori’s neck.

            “That was quick,” Ori said casually, his mind still a bit focused on Bilbo.

            “The Bennets,” Dwalin said. “They’re old family friends and long-term clients. They really didn’t need anything but reassurance with some recent changed that they made to their portfolio.”

            Ori hummed and nodded but didn’t say anything else.

            “You alright?” Dwalin asked pulling back. “You seem distracted.”

            “Sorry, love,” Ori answered, turning in Dwalin’s arms. “I just got off the phone with Bilbo.”

            “Everything alright there?” Dwalin inquired.

            “He sounded better,” Ori said coming back to senses. “In fact, he is on the train home now.”

            “Is that good?”

            “I think so, but,” Ori stated. “But he slipped and made a comment that he was _‘passed over’_ concerning Thorin.”

            “What does _that_ mean?”

            “That’s what I asked, but he refused to elaborate and stated again that he would tell me only if Thorin told you the full story.”

            They were quiet for a minute; both lost in their own thoughts, until Dwalin finally just shook his head.

            “You know what?” Dwalin said. “Enough of those two; we’ll drive ourselves mad if we keep on.”

            “Agreed,” Ori said with a smile.

            “How about instead,” Dwalin offered, kissing Ori on the tip of his nose, “we take a quick shower and take a drive today?”

            “Brilliant,” Ori said, returning Dwalin’s kiss. “But, do you honestly think we can take a quick shower?”

            Dwalin smiled lecherously. “I said a quick _shower_ ; I didn’t say anything about the buggering while _in_ said shower.”

            Ori smiled. He liked the sound of that.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            “I don’t want to do this,” Ori said in a small voice.

            “Relax,” Dwalin softly.

            “I’m scared.”

            “Don’t be scared.”

            “I’ve never done this before.”

            “It gets easier each time.”

            “I don’t want to get hurt.”

            “Don’t you trust me?”

            “I do trust you but, I’m still afraid.”

            “Come on. Man up.”

            “Don’t tell me to _‘man up!’_ You do it all the time!” Ori’s knuckles where white at this point and Dwalin covered Ori’s hands with his own and gently rubbed Ori’s fingers to relax him.

            “Love,” Dwalin said with a purr in his voice. “It’s only driving lessons, I’m not looking for you to donate a kidney.”

            Ori’s grip on the Rover’s steering wheel loosened a bit but he was still scared. “I’ve never had to drive in my life; I take public transport.”

            “I understand,” Dwalin said softly. “But I think if we end up spending more weekends out here, it’s a good idea if you know how to drive.”

            Ori nodded and didn’t argue; they both knew it was a good idea. Ori started muttering the steps under his breath and Dwalin watched, amused, as Ori went through the motions like a mime. Finally taking a deep breath, Ori followed through and the Rover revved up, shot forward and stalled.

            “Oh my god!” Ori was wide-eyed. “Did I break something?”

            Dwalin just laughed. “No, babe, you’re fine,” Dwalin calmed. “You just need to ease off the clutch slower while pressing on the accelerator faster.”

            “Really?” Ori wanted reassurance.

            “It’s totally normal for a beginner,” Dwalin said soothingly. “Try it again.”

            Ori tried again and this time the car moved forward; a bit jerkily but it didn’t stall.

            “Give it some petrol,” Dwalin encouraged.

            Ori did and when the engine began to rev higher, he pushed in the clutch and shifted gears. Once again, the transition was a bit jerky but he slowly got the hang of it.

            “Okay,” Dwalin said, feeling good. “Doing brilliant!”

            “Yeah,” Ori said with smile. “I think I’m getting it!”

            Unfortunately, what Ori was really getting was a bit over-confident. Just as he was moving into fourth gear and about to head down the drive, he gave the Rover a bit too much petrol, it lunged forward, hitting a large pothole in the drive and before Ori could regain control, the Rover swung left quickly and ran right into the low, rock wall that lined that side of the drive; coming to a stop and stalling out.

            “Holy shit!” Ori was officially freaked out.

            “It’s okay. It’s alright” Dwalin said as he realized that he couldn’t get out on his side. “Let’s just get out and see the damage.” Ori exited and then Dwalin climbed out the driver’s side.

            The damage turned out to be a slight banged up but badly scrapped left, front wing and a two-meter gap in the rock wall.

            “Did I hurt the Rover?” Ori asked, clearly not wanting to go anywhere near that side of the auto or the wall.

            “You did more damage to the wall,” Dwalin said casually.

            “The wall’s made of rock,” Ori pointed out. “It can’t be hurt.”

            “The Rover’s made of metal,” Dwalin retorted with a crooked smile. “It can’t be hurt either.”

            “Maybe,” Ori conceded, “but I can’t anthropomorphize the wall like I can the car.”

            “In that case,” Dwalin said, “you did a bit of damage but nothing worth bothering about.”

            “So, it can be fixed?” Ori asked in a small voice.

            That got Dwalin’s full attention; Ori was upset, not just worried, but truly upset. “It’s completely fixable, love.” Dwalin went over and threw an arm around Ori’s shoulders to hug him close. “It’s all fixable.”

            Ori glared at the wall as if it had deliberately jumped out in front of the Rover. “I hate being an idiot.”

            “Hey,” Dwalin said turning Ori so he could look at him straight. “You’re not an idiot. You’re learning. And I should have known better than to teach you on a narrow, gravel drive. Next time will be in an open, _empty_ car park.”

            “Okay,” Ori said, nodding. “Next time I’ll do better.”

            That’s what Dwalin wanted to hear; he didn’t want Ori to be afraid to try again.

            Dwalin sent himself a quick email via his phone, coping Carolyn of course, to call a mason to fix the wall, as well as taking a picture of the Rover and the wall together so that he could always remember Ori’s first accident. Ori wasn’t so amused at first but by the time lunch was over, they were both laughing about it.

            Dwalin ended up driving all over the area and showing Ori where he had played growing up and some of the sights. He passed a small church and was about to point it out when he thought better—Ori didn’t need to know where Dwalin had lost his virginity or with whom.

            The afternoon was pleasant and Dwalin was reminded again of his thoughts about living with Ori. _Would it be like this? Sharing everything; even the mundane things a pleasure because they were together?_ He’d done similar things before with boy friends, because it had been expected and after a bit, it had turned boring and dull. But with Ori the conversation flowed and they talked and laughed and shared—it was comfortable and warm.

            Dwalin knew he was being a sap but he wanted this and he had to wonder, what would his life be like if Ori hadn’t fallen through the door and almost right into his arms? An unpleasant shiver ran up his spine at the thought.

            Dwalin hadn’t paid any attention to exactly where he was going until Ori spoke up.

            “What’s that big house over there on the hill,” Ori said, pointing to the left.

            Dwalin was surprised; he must have been on autopilot. “That’s Robere Hall. That’s the Durin’s estate.”

 

_**BUCKLAND HOUSE, in BUCKLAND, OXFORDSHIRE - The Basis for The Durin Estate.** _

 

 

            “And here I thought your place was big,” Ori said dryly.

            It was a large, three-story Georgian house in the Palladian style, constructed of sand colored stone, two extended wings and two octagonal-shaped buildings at the ends of the wings. The house seemed to Lord over the hill and land it sat on, looking down on everything around it. It was massive compared to Dwalin’s family’s home.

            As they drove past, Ori caught a sign for _‘_ _Robere_ _Park_ _.’_ He was just about to ask about it, when Dwalin beat him to it.

            “The Durin’s used to own all the land around here,” Dwalin said, point on either side of the road. “However, Thorin’s grandfather, Thror, started selling off the land for money to keep the house up. When Thrain took over, he sold off everything but about fifty acres around the house. Developers used the Robere name to built modern homes and called it _Robere_ _Park_.”

            As they drove past, Ori could see the modern homes on large lots. However, they came up on a part looked still wooded and isolated. And there was a sign that read, _‘Dale-On-Celbuin.’_

            “What’s that?” Ori asked, pointing to the sign.

            “Dale is a small Tudor village,” Dwalin answered. “It sits on the Celbuin River, a small tributary of the Thames. Developers have tried their damnest to take it over but the local council has been very aggressive in defending the town and many of the surrounding homes.”

            Dwalin made a turn to drive through the town. Ori hummed in appreciation; he may not have studied architecture in detail but he did love the feel of the small, quaint village. However, it all changed suddenly on the outskirts of town.

            “Dwalin, stop!” Ori demanded and Dwalin stopped the car. “Go back.”

            “What did you see?” Dwalin hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary.

            “Just go back to that road,” Ori said.

            Dwalin reversed and saw a small lane leading through a loose copse of trees.

            “Turn down here please,” Ori requested quietly.

            Dwalin did as asked but he was curious. _What the hell was so hot down here?_ He tried to see the road sign that got Ori’s attention but he missed it as he turned. They drove almost two kilometers before Ori once again seemed to spot something, and begged Dwalin to stop. Ori was out of the Rover before it had even come to a full stop; running back the way they had come. Dwalin got out and followed. Ori was standing by what looked like a tiny drive with crumbling markers on either side; one had partially fallen over while the other was still standing.

            As he came up beside him, Dwalin saw Ori was actually staring at a small redbrick cottage that was obviously abandoned and forgotten. The lawn and garden were so overgrown almost non-existent at this point; the dwelling could barely be seen. The thatched roof looked in terrible shape but even though there were open areas, the roofline looked straight. All the windows were board up and the whole property had a very unhappy look to it; not sinister or deplorable but sad and almost heartbreaking if Dwalin were to think of it.

            “Kind of gloomy,” Dwalin said but Ori didn’t respond at all, just stood there for long minutes in silence. Dwalin was starting to get worried.

            “Let’s go,” Ori said in a voice that sounded a bit too thick

            Dwalin was really confused, but before he could ask, Ori was walking back to the Rover. Clearly something was wrong but for the life of him, Dwalin couldn’t figure it out.   As he went to walk away, something on the only standing marker caught his eye and Dwalin realized it was a weatherworn sign, figuring that was what caught Ori’s eye about the house _._

            Reaching down to wipe the dirt away from the lettering, Dwalin saw two words.

            _Bag End._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ROBERE = Erebor backwards
> 
> \----------------------
> 
>  **BUCKLAND HOUSE in Buckland, Oxfordshire** (from Wikipedia) - Buckland House is a large Georgian stately home and the manor house of Buckland in the Oxfordshire, England (formerly in Berkshire). It is a masterpiece of Palladian architecture erected by John Wood, the Younger for Sir Robert Throckmorton in 1757.
> 
> Buckland House stands with extensive grounds known as Buckland Park, which includes gardens, a cricket ground and a 150 acres (61 ha) deer park. The previous manor house, Buckland Manor House, also stands in the park. Buckland House is a Grade II* listed building in the Palladian style. Nikolaus Pevsner described it as "the most splendid Georgian house in the Country", It is rumoured that a ghost of a white lady haunts the house.
> 
> In 2004, motorcar driver Paddy McNally bought Buckland House and began a major restoration to its former glory.


	13. SUNDAY - The End of The Beginning, Part 2

* * *

 

 

            Thorin wasn’t so sure about tomorrow.

            Dis had told him that she had made an appointment for him with Grey on Monday at noon. His first emotion was anger; how dare she make that decision for him? But that died very quickly in the realty of the situation; Friday had been less than stellar and he knew it.

            This entire situation had gotten out of control and now two days of being sober had cleared his mind enough for him to realize that something had to be done. It was seeping into every aspect of his life now. Thorin had told Grey just last week, _“… what do you mean by ‘_ _intense attitude and behavior?’_ _There’s nothing wrong with my attitude or behavior!”_ Oh, but there was, and Thorin couldn’t deny it any longer; it was now affecting his work life as well.

            And just last night as Kili was talking, as the young were wont to do, not realizing the impact of their own words, Thorin knew things had come to a head. He tried so hard to hold on to the hatred he _wanted_ to feel. Even now he could feel it like a slick snake wrapped around his heart, but he just couldn’t hold on to it.

            Grey had offered up an explanation as to Bilbo’s abandonment; “ _It is entirely possible that it wasn't lack of love that motivated your young man, but fear.”_ Of course, Thorin had rejected that; in his mind there was no excuse for the betrayal. But a sickening thought bubbled up in Thorin’s mind; was there truly no acceptable excuse, or was it more that there was no excuse that Thorin would accept?

 _“Still filled with unresolved feelings, and a love-turned-hatred that keeps you connected—a connection you seem to_ _need_ _, if not outright_ _crave_ _. Because it’s the only thing you have left of him.”_

            Yes. It was all true. Thorin couldn’t let him go and Friday came back with full clarity; standing before Bilbo, Thorin’s very first urge was not to scream, not to shout, nor even to shake Bilbo until he confessed everything, his first urge had been to reach out, touch him and pull him closer, pull Bilbo to him and finally have that feeling of completion that only Bilbo could give him. But Thorin hadn’t done that; he had walked away—like he had done three years before, one warm Tuesday morning in August.

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_THREE YEARS PRIOR_ **

 

            It had become an unstated agreement between the two of them; they wouldn’t discuss Thorin’s departure.

            When Sunday dawned, Thorin woke to the sound of the pitter-pat of rain against the bedroom window even before opening his eyes. _That would explain the dream about water in my shoes._ The rain also meant that they would, most likely, be staying in for a while. And if it rained all day, that could mean all day cuddling on the couch.

            _How terrible,_ Thorin thought dryly as he pulled Bilbo’s sleeping form closer to him and buried his face in his love’s honey curls.

            Neither of them truly minded the rain in the end. They had indeed lounged about; Bilbo snug in the corner of the couch reading Gaskell’s _North and South_ , while Thorin read the paper, his head resting in Bilbo’s lap.

            Thorin did follow through with his plan from Saturday night. When Bilbo had gone to take a shower, Thorin, under the guise of calling his sister, actually placed a call to the jewelry store at The Lanes they had gone to the day before and placed an order; the owner wasn’t the least bit surprised.   What Thorin needed would be ready late Monday and Thorin could have it first thing Tuesday morning.

            Cutting it close, but it was fine.

            By Sunday evening the rain had stopped and Bilbo insisted on taking Thorin out again for dinner. Bilbo offered Italian and Thorin was all for it. _Donatello’s_ was the best and the atmosphere was as wonderful as the food. Somehow, during the course of the meal, they got on the subject of jokes and by the time desert was over, they had told each other every joke, including the dirty ones, they both knew. Of course, Thorin was terrible at remembering the punch lines, although he had no problem with his stand by; ‘A blond walks into a bar’, pause of effect, ‘You’d think she saw it.” Bilbo groaned but laughed as well; that’s all Thorin really wanted anyway.

            And despite Thorin’s best effort to get to the check first, Bilbo got the drop on him. Very well, Thorin could see it would be a game between them, but Thorin hardly minded. He suspected that Bilbo didn’t either.

            They enjoyed their meal but returned home early to snuggle in bed and make love.

            _Home._

            It was funny to Thorin—home had always meant awkward family gatherings and uncomfortable situations. Home had meant a big house and cavernous rooms with old furniture and old paintings and old memories. Now, home meant comfort, warmth and affection, desire, and love; it meant Bilbo. Wherever Bilbo was, that was home.

            Monday started bright and cheerful, but with a minor hiccup. Bilbo had received a call early in the morning; a colleague had a family emergency and would Bilbo please consider giving the lecture on the subject of _Female Authors of the Nineteenth Century_ for the colleague’s Gender Studies class? Bilbo was, at first, reluctant to do it—he had given his notice, he was done with teaching. But Thorin had convinced him; it was only a brief interruption to their day and frankly, it was a subject that Bilbo didn’t really need a great deal of time to prepare for.   Beside, Thorin had an ulterior motive—he wanted to watch Bilbo at work.

            As the drove to the university, Bilbo went over just quickly jotted down notes as Thorin drove the little car with as much grace as he could muster. The lecture was to take place in one of the lecture halls on campus. Bilbo had offered Thorin the use of his office, which hadn’t been totally packed up yet, but Thorin didn’t want to be tucked away, he wanted to watch. Bilbo wasn’t sure about it but he gave in; after much pouting and kisses from Thorin.

            The hall wasn’t too big and Thorin had no intention of distracting Bilbo, so he sat in the back of the hall. It was the smallest of the three theatres but it was still only a third full. A few students looked at Thorin oddly, obviously wondering what he was doing there; he was clearly no student. A couple of students seemed to look at him _fondly_ as well, trying to catch his eye—this made him a little uncomfortable but then the side door opened and Bilbo stepped out into theatre to begin.

            Thorin was mesmerized. Bilbo greeted the room and made a quip about not being the other teacher, a little joke really. Everyone laughed and the atmosphere in the room felt suddenly light and airy. The room fell silent as Bilbo began to speak; moving back and forth and while he didn’t use the projector or Power Point or anything of the kind, it was hard to take one’s eyes off him. Bilbo talked of Austen, the Bronte sisters, Gaskell and Eliot. He compared their upbringings and their view of society and how, from the Regency Period to the Belle Epoch, society and it’s views of women changed and how this, in turn, influenced writers and poets, thus leading into Bilbo’s discussion on Barrett-Browning, Dickinson, and Rosetti.   Of course, Bilbo was not remiss to point out that almost all of these women had gone against what was viewed as acceptable in the eyes of society and made names for themselves on their own terms with their art.

            By the time the lecture was over, Thorin was humbled and proud in equal measures; Bilbo was not only beautiful in Thorin’s eyes, but incredibly intelligent and insightful.

            As the room emptied and Thorin descended the stairs to the front, Bilbo was surrounded by a group of students. They thanked him for his lecture, a few offered congratulations and luck for his new job, a couple had questions on his lecture, but most wanted to say good-bye and expressed sadness over his leaving. Once again, Thorin was humbled to think that Bilbo had touched so many with his knowledge and wisdom and he wondered how much he truly had to offer this man who so clearly had the world on his own terms.

            It was at lunch that Thorin found out.

            They decided on a late lunch at a café near the university and Thorin couldn’t help himself as he confessed to Bilbo that he had been impressed and awed to watch him work. He had learned so much, not just about the authors and poets but a point of view on many of them that he had just never considered. But Thorin also made the comment, quietly, that he wondered as to his worth to Bilbo.

            “How can you even wonder at that?” Bilbo asked with a little laugh. Obviously he thought the idea amusing if not ridiculous.

            “I just mean,” Thorin said, “You’re so astute.”

            “Well,” Bilbo huffed out a sigh. “I appreciate that, but it is my field of study. And may I point out that you are just as intelligent. I’m sure that if you gave a lecture on finance, or investments or the stock market, I would feel like a complete idiot, so don’t place me too high on a pedestal.”

            _Too late,_ Thorin thought. “Finance is easy,” Thorin countered.

            “Oh, really?” Bilbo out right laughed at that. “I’m sure it’s more than numbers and equations.”

            “Well, sure,” Thorin added.

            Bilbo rolled his eyes and continued. “You sit there and say that you’re impressed because I see the picture as a whole. But aren’t you doing the same thing in matters of money and finances? I mean, it’s more than putting pound notes in a bank account and walking away.”

            Now Thorin laughed. “Far more.”

            “Alright then,” Bilbo shrugged. “Sure we have different areas of study and we look at society in different ways; I see it from a psychosocial point of view, while you’re viewing it from an economical one. They may be different, but when we think on it, they are both interconnected. Just look at Jane Austen: would her novels be what they are if she hadn’t lived with the threat of poverty and off the financial support of her brothers for most of her life?”

            “I don’t know,” Thorin had to confess, he knew little of Austen’s history.

            “Well, I do,” Bilbo said assuredly. “And believe me; finances played a huge role in many of the lives of the female author’s of the nineteenth century, so there.”

            Once again, Thorin was amazed at Bilbo’s perception. “Why do you love me?” It just slipped out before Thorin could even think about it.

            Bilbo blushed and looked down at his plate with a small, almost bittersweet smile that Thorin almost missed, before he answered, “Because you make me feel cherished. Something I have only ever dreamed about.”

            This was the second time Bilbo had uttered that word.   “You said that last night too, about being cherished,” Thorin said quietly. “Did Nori not … _care_ for you in that way?” Thorin didn’t want to ask or imply that Nori hadn’t loved Bilbo, because it was clear that Bilbo had loved the man and Thorin had no intention of taking that way from Bilbo. But the comment the night before left the question almost begging to be asked.

            Bilbo seemed to mull the question over before answering. “I loved Nori very much,” Bilbo replied. “And I would have gladly married him had we gotten to that point. And I know that he loved me, in his own way.”

            “ _In his own way_?” Thorin obviously thought the phrase distasteful.

            “I don’t mean that he didn’t love me,” Bilbo insisted. “Only that, with Nori it was … I mean, it … It wasn’t like …”   Bilbo tapered off, lost in his thoughts for a moment.

            “Are you _sure_ he loved you?” Thorin asked and then thought better of it. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible question; forget I asked it.” Thorin couldn’t imagine anyone not loving Bilbo; Lord knows, he did, but he had no right to question Bilbo’s past love.

            But Bilbo was forgiving. “It’s alright,” Bilbo stated. “I understand what you meant. It’s just that … it was different.”

            “Different from what?” Thorin asked softly.

            “From you,” Bilbo whispered.

            Thorin couldn’t help but smile at that. He knew he was being ridiculous and that Nori was nothing but a ghost, a specter—a spook as it was—that only lived in Bilbo’s past, but there was a part of Thorin that was jealous; Nori had gotten Bilbo first.

            “With Nori,” Bilbo continued on, “even with all the years I had known him, including the three short years we were actually together … in all that time, there always seemed a part of him that was … hidden from me.”

            “Hidden?” Thorin was kind of taken aback. “You mean he _cheated_ on you?”

            “No, no!” Bilbo insisted. “Nothing like that. It was more like … no matter how close we got or whatever we shared, there was a part of him that I couldn’t reach, I couldn’t _touch_ on; and yet he always told him I knew him better than anyone else, even his brothers.”

            “I’m not sure I understand.” Thorin really didn’t know what Bilbo meant.

            “Well,” Bilbo said looking at Thorin with a small smile, “when I look at you, I feel connected, I can feel you—”

            “In your soul,” Thorin said, nodding, smiling to himself; he knew, because he could feel it too. “Like part of you—”

            “Had always been missing,” Bilbo understood perfectly. “Like two—”

            “Two halves,” Thorin offered.

            “A feeling of—” Bilbo added.

            “Completion,” Thorin whispered looking into Bilbo’s eyes and running the back of his fingers along Bilbo’s cheek.

            “Of finally being whole,” Bilbo whispered in reply and leaning just a bit into Thorin’s touch.

            Many said the eyes were the windows of the soul, and at that moment, Thorin could believe it, because he felt like he was looking into a reflection of himself as he gazed into Bilbo’s.

            “You see,” Bilbo began again. “I never had that with Nori. I know he loved me. I loved him … had we had the time and opportunity … I don’t doubt I would have married him and never known what it was to feel this way.”

            “You know,” Thorin said, suddenly feeling a chill and reaching to grasp Bilbo’s hand. “When I was living in the closet, there were times in my life when I thought; just marry some woman, have some kids … keep male lovers on the side, lead a double life and be done with it. No one could’ve convinced me that I could have this feeling … this _love_ … _what we have_ , with another man. It was inconceivable, almost frightening, to me.”

            “We might never have met each other,” Bilbo said with a touch of fear at the thought.

            “Or worse,” Thorin said, because he could imagine it. “We could have married others and … imagine us having some chance encounter, running into each other … on the street, on the tube, in a shop or something, and looking into the other’s eyes and just _knowing_ , just _feeling_ something there.”

            Bilbo’s eyes widened a bit at the implications.

            “For all we know,” Thorin added. “We could have met and I might very well have walked away with my wife and kids; in fear of what I saw in your eyes.”

            “I don’t want to think about that,” Bilbo said as he grabbed Thorin’s other hand and held on to it tight; almost as if Thorin would disappear before him.

            Bilbo shivered and Thorin knew it was because it was all too close to the truth. The notion that their meeting had been meant to be, had been fated to happen—destined to be realized, hit Thorin like a freight train. They had been in the right spot, at the right time, _the right moment,_ to meet each other; both had been running late for the train, but there were trains nearly every hour, so if either of them had missed the one they wanted, another would’ve come along. Either one of them might have taken a later train; either could have missed the other.

            Instantly the doubt of Thorin’s belonging with Bilbo evaporated and no longer did he have to wonder; Bilbo was meant for him and he for Bilbo—no one could convince him otherwise.

            As if the mood had dictated it, they spent that night watching romantic comedies and laughing, all the while holding each other close. Only months ago, if asked, Thorin would have scoffed and rolled his eyes at ‘wasting his time’ doing the very thing he was doing now with Bilbo.

            But despite the heady feeling of being together, a darkening mood slowly crept up on Thorin. Thorin made no move, no sound, he didn’t state anything at all, but Bilbo must have felt the change—maybe picking up on Thorin’s suddenly pounding heart. Tomorrow Thorin was leaving; this was their last night together

            Without any verbal agreement or discussion, the television went off, the lights were put out and they moved to the bed, there to wrap themselves together in an unstated attempt to ward off the chill that seemed to have settled around them.

            Thorin tried to put all his words and feelings into his touch and Bilbo did the same, at least as far as Thorin could interpret. ‘I want you’, ‘I need you’, ‘You are everything’, ‘I will miss you’, _‘I love you’_ —all this and more passed between them as Thorin’s hands mapped out the soft form of Bilbo beneath him. And Bilbo clung on to Thorin as if they had jumped a great precipice together.

            And that was it really. The whole weekend had been like one long parachute jump. No matter what they did or had done these last few days, they were always going to descent to the ground of reality and Thorin would have to leave Bilbo behind.

            Thorin had to go.

            Tuesday morning dawned as much of the night has passed; awake and fearful. So filled with both emotion were the two of them, Thorin and Bilbo had only clung to each other—neither saying a word—and watched as the protective veil of night was stripped away by the rising sun. The separation felt like a disease, but there was no cure for the illness, it was terminal; Thorin had to go back and that would be the start of, at least, six long months apart. Thorin was due back in just after the first of the year, although Bilbo has been warned that the tour could be extended and Thorin may not arrive home until February or March. Bilbo had merely nodded in response. What could he say? Nothing. There was nothing for it as their fates were in the hands of others.

            They had tried to make love as the cold morning light filled the room, but the simple desire to hold each other close was too overwhelming and the as the minutes ticked away, both knew the time was drawing nearer and nearer.

            When they finally got out of bed, Thorin headed to the shower, while Bilbo made coffee and breakfast for them both.

            As the water poured over him, Thorin couldn’t help but feel like he was getting ready for his own funeral. This was exactly why he hadn’t had a boyfriend, lover, or partner before; the idea of leaving them behind to fend for themselves while he was half a world away was too much for him to bear. How was he to get through today, let alone the next several months? But of course, those thoughts were immediately crushed in the realization that he wouldn’t have traded what he had with Bilbo for anything.

            And what of Bilbo? What would happen when he woke in the night alone or listened to the news or saw images of battles and they overwhelmed him? Who was going to care for him? Thorin had toyed with the idea of telling Dis about Bilbo, having her check on him and bring him into the family. But no. Thorin didn’t want to explain about their whirlwind love or have to explain to his family, even Dis, that which he just couldn’t put into words. Not to mention he refused to have Bilbo exposed to his father with him there as a shield.

            But, the idea of Bilbo sitting alone, in the dark, as he had the other night, thinking of Thorin far away, missing him, and needing him, and Thorin thousands of miles away fighting a war for others, made Thorin angry and guilty.

            Again, though, there was nothing for it.

            Thorin slowly dressed. In just the last four days, the uniform he had been so proud to wear, something that made him part of something bigger than him, was now a symbol of what keeping him from all that he loved. None of it felt right, he was too uncomfortable, too warm, and the jacket felt too tight—confining and restrictive; not unlike a straightjacket to Thorin’s imagination. He suddenly had to breathe slowly because if he didn’t he wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.

            When he finally had everything packed and was done, Thorin walked out of the bedroom and found Bilbo standing in the kitchen.

            “I know you said you didn’t want anything heavy,” Bilbo said, quietly. “But I made some hardboiled eggs, like you like them, and I have some toast as well, and your coffee is just there.” Bilbo pointed to a coffee mug just on the built in table next to the food.

            “Thank you,” Thorin said. He wanted to take Bilbo into his arms again, but he knew if he did, they would never leave.

            “I’m going to take a quick shower,” Bilbo stated and quickly fled the room.

            Thorin ate an egg and a couple of pieces of toast but that was all he could get down. Without Bilbo there next to him, food had lost all taste, or so it seemed. When Bilbo emerged from the bedroom twenty minutes later, he ate a bit himself, but like Thorin there wasn’t much of an appetite.  

            Bilbo said to leave everything and as he put on his shoes and reached for his keys, they knew the time had come. Thorin had one quick look around the little flat, wanting to burn the images into his memory—along with all the things that happened there; eating at the table, making dinner together in the kitchen, snuggling on the couch, sitting on the floor and playing card games on the coffee table, listening to music—listening to music as they made love.

            The bedroom was the only room Thorin couldn’t look at—he didn’t want to be reminded of the big, empty bed that Bilbo would now have to sleep in alone.

            As the pulled away, Thorin asked Bilbo to please stop by The Lanes on their way to the station. To Bilbo’s credit, and to Thorin’s relief, he didn’t ask why but glanced inquisitively at Thorin and nodded agreement.

            As soon as they pulled in, Thorin hurried to the jeweler’s and retrieved Bilbo’s gift. It was better than he thought and he thanked the man profusely. However, when he went to pay, the older man only charged him for the item—not the engraving. Thorin protested, he could see that the man had taken particular care and done a beautiful job. However, the man still refused and then, when Thorin finished signing the credit receipt, the man wished him well, good luck and hoped that the ‘young man with you the other day’ liked the item.

            Thorin paused for a minute before relaxing at seeing the soft smile the jeweler wore. “I hope so too,” Thorin said, pocketing the gift.

            “You two make a handsome couple,” The older man said.

            “I think so,” Thorin couldn’t help his smile at the thought. “Thank you again.”

            “With pleasure, my boy,” The jeweler said as they both turned away.

            Thorin looked back as he went through the door, but saw that the jeweler was now speaking with another man who had come out of the back and for a brief moment before he walked away, he saw the older couple share a kiss of them own.

            “Did you get what you needed?” Bilbo asked as Thorin got back into the car.

            “Yes,” Thorin nodded gazing at Bilbo. “I have everything I need.”

            The ride to the train station was too quick. Granted, it wasn’t that far but to Thorin, who wanted to remember every single second with his love, it was all over in the blink of an eye; getting his ticket, going through the turnstiles, and getting to the train itself.   There weren’t a huge number of people but there were a few nearby. Thorin at first wondered if they should move along to have more privacy but in the end, he just didn’t care.

            Bilbo had not said much on the ride there.   Thorin was worried at the silence but then he too couldn’t find the words—how many ways can one say good-bye.   Especially a good-bye, neither wanted to say.

            “Do you—” Bilbo stated before taking a quick breath. “Do you have everything you need?”

            Thorin could only laugh affectionately. “A little late now to worry about it, but yes … I have everything I need.” _Except you, my love,_ went unsaid. “I do have something for you, though.”

            Bilbo sighed. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

            “Yes, I did,” Thorin said, pulling out the small, velvet box from his pocket and holding it out to Bilbo in the palm of his hand.

            Bilbo stilled and took a few breaths before tentatively reaching for the box and opening it. “Oh, Thorin,” was all he could get out as he lifted the golden ring from its resting place and caressing it with his fingertips.

            “Think of it,” Thorin said, “as a physical reminder of my promise to return.”

            Bilbo gazed at the ring and saw that it was engraved around the outside with …

 

**_“My true love has my heart”_ **

            Bilbo, who had clearly been fight to keep any tears in check, couldn’t stop a single sniffle gaving him away.

            “Please don’t cry,” Thorin said, his own voice becoming thick.

            “It’s beautiful, Thorin,” Bilbo said and Thorin could see the pooling of Bilbo’s tears in his eyes.

            Thorin gently took the ring and tried it on Bilbo’s finger, but it was too big. It ended up fitting perfectly on his index finger instead. “You can get it resized,” Thorin said, feeling disappointed.

            “No!” Bilbo said empathically. “It’s perfect the way it is. I don’t want to change a thing about it.”

            It was then that the announcement sounded that Thorin’s train was due to leave in a few minutes. Overwhelmed, Thorin didn’t care who was near or who was watching, he reached out and cupped Bilbo’s face with both hands and drew them together in a fevered kiss.

            “Will you write me?” Thorin asked, almost pleading.

            “Every day,” Bilbo promised. “Will you write me as well?”

            “Yes,” Thorin swore. “Of course, I’ll need your new address.”

            “As soon as I decide on a flat,” Bilbo quipped and they both chuckled. “Where can I write you?”

            Thorin reached for his pocket and realized he didn’t have anything to write with or on; Bilbo didn’t either. Thorin turned to an elderly couple next to them and the lady was very gracious in giving a pen and a small page form a notebook. Thorin scribbled out the address as best he could. “Here,” Thorin said, handing the paper to Bilbo. “I _will_ write but I’ll warn you now, my handwriting is rubbish.

            “I don’t care,” Bilbo said, slipping Thorin’s address in his pocket.

            “My cousin tells me I have the handwriting of a serial killer.” They both chuckled at that.

            “I still don’t care.”

            There was a last call to board and Thorin turned desperately to Bilbo one last time, pulling them close and resting their foreheads together. “Tell me you love me.”

            “I love you,” Bilbo whispered through his now falling tears.

            “Promise you’ll write to me.”

            “I promise.”

            “Promise you’ll hold on to our dreams.”

            “I promise.”

            “Promise you’ll wait for me.”

            “I promise. Forever if need be, but I promise.”

            “Now promise me something else, Bilbo,” Thorin said as he kissed Bilbo softly on the mouth. “Kiss me good-bye and walk away.”

            “What?!” Bilbo clutched tighter to Thorin’s jacket. “Why?”

            “Please, Bilbo,” Thorin said, his own tears falling now. “I need you to kiss me and then walk way. I don’t think I can take it, if my last image is of you, standing on the platform, alone and in tears. Walk away, babe.”

            Thorin, with his eyes closed, felt Bilbo nod in reply and once again, they were kissing; pouring all their love and emotion into that kiss before gently pulling apart.

            Thorin already cold without the warmth that was Bilbo in his arms, turned and picked up his bag behind him and got on the train. He settled in a seat that looked forward—he didn’t want to see back they way they came; he didn’t want to see Bilbo walking away. But he was already missing Bilbo and his heart ached. He fought to keep his tears from returning.

            Thorin heard the doors of the train start to close when the lady sitting across from him—the same elderly lady he had borrowed a pen from—tapped him on his knee to get his attention. He looked up and saw that she was pointing out of the window. Turning he saw that Bilbo had not kept his promise, and had returned, but he had dried his eyes and was smiling at him. Thorin’s heart leapt at the sight of his love, standing there with the sunlight from the station’s glass roof illuminating his honey-blond curls, gazing at Thorin with all the love that could send in a single look, and holding up his hand in a gesture that Thorin couldn’t place right away. Thorin returned the gesture, it was almost automatic, and didn’t break eye contact with Bilbo until the train had moved too far from the platform.

            Thorin settled back and gazed down at this hand that was still in the same position and wondering what the gesture meant.

            “I love you,” came the elderly lady’s voice through Thorin’s thoughts.

            “I’m sorry?” Thorin asked surprised.

            “That hand gesture,” she said, pointing to Thorin’s hand resting in his lap. “It’s sign language. It means ‘I love you.’”

            _Of course,_ Thorin thought. _How stupid of me to forget._

            “He’s very sweet-looking,” The lady said.

            Thorin wasn’t going to even pretend he didn’t know who she was talking about. “He is … everything.”

            “I could tell,” she said with a small smile.

            Thorin returned her smile and basked in the warm memories of Bilbo. He had no idea at that moment, no hint, _no clue_ , that he would only receive a single letter from Bilbo or that it would be three long years before he even saw his love again.

 

_**I LOVE YOU** _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple of inside jokes here - one is the joke that Thorin tells about the blond - Richard Armitage said in his 60 second interview with Martin Freeman that he can't remember jokes - this blond joke is the only one he can tell. I thought that charming, and had to give the same thing to Thorin.
> 
> Also, did anyone catch the book Bilbo was reading on that rainy Sunday?? Yeah, shameless plug that is ....
> 
> \---------------
> 
> Some readers have contacted me in regards to Thorin and Dwalin both questioning their worthiness for their, seemingly 'inferior' social boyfriends. While i find that ... disagreeable, i will tell you there IS A GOOD REASON and it will come up.


	14. MONDAY - Web of Lies

* * *

 

            Bilbo walked out of his room, gently rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he shook off the shroud of sleep, stood in the kitchen and sighed.

            It was odd waking up without Ori nearby. Sure, Bilbo had spent a few days in Brighton and had needed that brief time away; he woke up this whole weekend without Ori near by.

            This was different.

            He was so used to the _‘it’s-too-early-for-that’_ dance music pouring out of Ori’s bedroom or his best friend’s snarky mutterings as he tore his room apart, looking for whatever item he had misplaced.  

            It was Monday and somehow not starting the week with his best friend there was odd. Bilbo made coffee and had breakfast _alone_ , he sat at the table _alone_ , he didn’t have anyone to discuss the day with or even just bitch about this, that or the other thing. He had forgotten what it was to be alone.

            _You’re still not alone and you know it,_ his mind pointed out.

            Before he met Thorin he had lived perfectly fine alone. Well, fine was a relative term; he was—content. Even after that wondrous, perfect weekend, the one that he still dreamed about almost every night and daydreamed about most days, he went back to living alone.

            _No you didn’t,_ his thoughts pushed back at him as he fiddled with the ring about his neck. _Even before you left the flat in_ _Brighton_ _and moved to_ _London_ _, Thorin’s presence lingered._ That was true. Thorin had been there in spirit if not in form.

            And now that he thought on it, when he moved to London, he had always dreamed and waited for Thorin to return home to him, to live with him, so in a way, no, he hadn’t been alone at all. The dream of Thorin had followed Bilbo to London and never left—it had died, of course, but its spirit haunted him still.

            On the night Thorin left, Bilbo had found a sock that Thorin had left behind and, as embarrassed as he would be to admit it, he still had that sock tucked away from prying eyes. Bilbo couldn’t even throw away the newspaper Thorin had read while they snuggled on the couch in that rainy Sunday. Like the sock, that paper was tucked away. Books that Thorin had bought him, CDs that Thorin had played, signed receipts that Thorin had left behind—many had been gathered up and tucked away. If Ori ever wondered what the little chest, hidden in a corner of Bilbo’s closet contained, he never asked or seemed to care.

            Bilbo wondered what Andy would say when Bilbo told him that he had kept those things. Maybe urge Bilbo to rid himself of the past, to purge that which was only a reminder of Bilbo’s loss and abandonment.

            But Bilbo would never do it. He had promised to hold on to their dreams, to wait for Thorin—forever if need be, or never as it turned out. Bilbo had promised and he would be damned before he gave up those little things that Thorin had touched. Someone would have to pry them out of Bilbo’s cold, dead hands before he let them go.

            Like his gold ring. It hung now on a chain because for Bilbo, it belonged as close to his heart as it could be; always. _‘My true love has my heart’_ , Bilbo had to wonder, did Thorin even realize that he still had Bilbo’s heart, totally and completely?

            Probably not.

            And two years ago, after that awful, dreadful summer, Ori had moved in and stayed and it had been such a huge relief. He never truly expressed that to Ori and part of him felt a bit guilty at the thought, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Ori already knew.

            Ori had saved him, literally and figuratively. And now it seemed that Ori was moving in a new direction. Bilbo knew that his best friend wouldn’t make any snap decisions—it wasn’t his style, but Bilbo had a funny feeling that in the not too distant future, he would be living alone.

            Well, not alone; there was still the spirit of Thorin with him.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “This is totally ridiculous!” Thorin thundered.

            “No it’s not,” Dis replied with casually, with one hand on her hip. She wasn’t taking ‘No’ for answer. “You have enough on your plate and will have even more, I’m sure, after your session. I can take care of work.”

            “There’s no reason for me to stay home like some fucking toddler!”

            “Really? Shall we go over your behavior on Friday, because that bordered on infantile.”

            “Don’t fucking throw that in my face every argument! I can bloody well go to work _and_ go to Grey! I’ve done it before.”

            “And there is nothing wrong with me handling your accounts for a day or two while you take some time for yourself.”

            “I need to be at work!”

            “No you don’t. I can handle it.”

            Thorin was incensed. He had never taken a day off since his return. Why start now? Because he couldn’t. “Dis, I need to work.”

            “Bullshit,” Dis retorted and her own anger was spiking. “You need to fucking stay out of the office and get yourself better.”

            “And what’s to keep me from just going in?” Thorin threw out at his sister.

            “You show up, and I’ll have security march your arse right out of the fucking building.”

            Thorin was actually shocked. “You won’t,” Thorin said but he saw the look on Dis’ face and knew she wasn’t bluffing.

            “I mean it, Thorin,” Dis said, her voice steely. “So help me, I will.”

            Thorin totally deflated at that point.   “Dis, please,” Thorin pleaded in a small voice, sitting hard on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. “I can’t feel more worthless than I already do.”

            Dis knelt before her brother and pulled his hands away from his face—she couldn’t let him hide anymore. “Darling, you aren’t worthless,” Dis hated playing the bad cop in this drama. “You’re hurt and you need help; work is just the easiest thing to do for you. Please let me help you.”

            Thorin nodded. He knew she was right, he’d known all along.

            “Any problems that come up today,” Dis stated, “you and I can go over tonight but honestly, I can handle work; you take care of yourself today.”

            “Yeah,” Thorin said. Frankly, it was a bit of a relief, if he was honest, to have the decision made for him. He really should just let her care for him.

            “I’ll send one of the company limos around eleven for you,” Dis added, pushing a stray lock of hair off Thorin’s forehead and placing a kiss in its place. “I’ll make sure they know to wait until you’re done.”

            “’Kay,” Thorin said.

            Dis got up and left at that point. Thorin however was now left alone with his thoughts and feelings—the very things he wanted to be distracted from.          

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            The car pulled up the building at a good clip but luckily everyone got out of the way in time. Ori chided Dwalin for his driving but the burly man just shrugged.

            “Have a good day,” Dwalin said, leaning over to give Ori a kiss.

            “You too,” Ori replied as they separated. “Are we doing lunch today?”

            “Of course,” Dwalin said incredulously; why was Ori even asking?

            Ori giggled. “Just making sure.”

            “And don’t forget dinner tonight with my dad,” Dwalin reminded in a rather sour tone.

            Ori gave Dwalin a suspicious look. “Do you not want to go?”

            Dwalin sighed. “It should be fine,” he said. “But after Friday though, and Balin’s fucking—”

            “Stop,” Ori said softly and placed a calming hand on Dwalin’s arm. “It was a simple misunderstanding and it’s over. I don’t want to be the center of a continued dispute between you and your brother. That won’t be good for anyone. And besides, I like your father, he seems to like me, and Balin and I will be fine. I don’t think anything will go wrong.”

            “It better not,” Dwalin growled out.

            “Please don’t pick a fight with Balin,” Ori pleaded.

            “I don’t pick fights!” Dwalin said indignantly, but refused to meet Ori’s gaze.

            Ori sighed. “At least promise to think twice before getting into any arguments with him.”

            Dwalin growled out of frustration but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll promise to _try_.”

            “Small concession,” Ori smirked with an air of adoration. “But I’ll take it.” Ori leaned over and planted a kiss on Dwalin’s cheek. “I’ll see you at lunch.” Ori slipped out of the car and Dwalin called out a good-bye before the door closed.

            Dwalin continued to tell himself, _don’t fight with Balin, don’t fight with Balin, you promised Ori, don’t fight with Balin._ He went over and over it in his mind, hoping he could keep his promise.

            It was going to be a long day.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bilbo entered the building that housed the House Proud offices and made for the lifts. It felt odd to be back so soon; he had just been there on Friday. It wasn’t that he really minded coming in, but he was so used to be at home that the offices where like an alien world.

            As he exited on the floor with the art departments, the cacophony of sound assaulted him. Shouting, phones, papers, even some crying— _clearly someone is already having a bad day_ —where everywhere. Bilbo kept walking and made his way to Graphics.

            As he entered Ori’s office, his best friend looked up.

            “Well, well,” Ori said, giving Bilbo a smile. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

            “Good morning,” Bilbo said, giving Ori a hug. “How was the rest your weekend?”

            “Eventful,” Ori said with a smirk.

            Bilbo raised a single eyebrow in return and asked, “Are these events you can share in public?”

            Ori laughed at that one, only because he knew that Bilbo knew the answer to that. “Some are, and—”

            “Some aren’t,” Bilbo finished and they both giggled like schoolboys. “Tell me the ones that are able to be told.”

            For just a split second, Ori almost blurted out, _I found_ _Bag Shot Road_ _. I found Bag End. It still stands._ But he couldn’t do it; not yet. Bilbo had been through too much this weekend and the time was just not right to spring that on him. But soon, he was sure. Dwalin had promised that he would look into ownership and status of the property before anything was said to Bilbo.

            “Well,” Ori said after a breath, “Dwalin taught me how to drive.”

            “You mean a _car_?” Bilbo asked with fake innocence.

            “Yes, I mean a car!” Ori replied with a mock scowl. “I didn’t do too badly, either.”

            “Define, _‘too badly,’_ ” Bilbo inquired.

            “I mastered the basics.”

            “And …?” Bilbo waited; knowing there had to be more.

            “And,” Ori sighed, “I might have taken out a section of rock wall that was a hundred years old.”

            “Oh my god!” Bilbo was surprised to say the least. “Where you hurt? Was _anyone_ hurt?”

            “Just the wall and the car,” Ori quipped.

            “I hope it was that beat up Rover you were driving,” Bilbo stated dryly and Ori nodded.

            “Dwalin wasn’t worried about it.”

            “No doubt,” Bilbo quipped.

            “But I did feel bad,” Ori admitted.

            “Again, no doubt.” Bilbo was sure that as much as Dwalin worried about Ori, the same could be reversed for his best friend. Really, the two of them were quite the pair. “I want to hear about your whole weekend, but right now I need to get over to Bard’s office.”

            “Do you know what he wants?” Ori asked.

            “Not a clue,” Bilbo answered, “except that it was something about my latest short story. Wish me luck.”

            “You don’t need it,” Ori said honestly, “but good luck.”

            “See you tonight,” Bilbo said.

            “Not until very late,” Ori replied, and then added when he saw Bilbo’s confusion, “Dinner with Dwalin’s family tonight.”

            “Oh,” Bilbo smirked. “Then I guess the good luck goes to you.”

            “Piss off,” Ori said sweetly as Bilbo laughed and walked away.

            Bilbo made is way back to the lift and took one to the floor above. The executive offices were neat and quiet compared to the other departments. Thankfully there was no one crying.

            Bard Bowman was one of the best, if not _the best_ , editors in the business. He had an uncanny ability to spot talent, hire them and push whatever magazine he was leading to new heights; not just in sales but in quality and importance. That was how he got Bilbo. He had gotten a letter about Bilbo, singing his praises, as well as an old copy of a short that Bilbo had penned for a local Brighton gay publication. The story was crap in Bilbo’s opinion but Bard swore he had seen potential. Bilbo never knew how Bard found him—Bilbo never sent the letter, but once he did, Bard wasn’t taking no for an answer.

            The fact that Bard flirted near constantly with Bilbo right at the start almost derailed the entire prospect. It hadn’t taken Bilbo three meetings for him to see that Bard was interested in more than just a new writer for the magazine. And Bilbo was flattered; he wouldn’t deny it, even now. But he also didn’t want to get involved with a boss, who had control over one’s paycheck, not to mention future career, and truth be told, Bilbo just wasn’t interested in Bard that way. Sure, Bard was incredibly good-looking, and kept Bilbo on his toes; Bilbo enjoyed the interplay between them. But something happened that neither expected; Thorin.

            Between their initial meetings and work agreement, and Bilbo actually starting working at _House Proud_ , Bilbo had met and fallen in love with Thorin. That didn’t mean that Bard didn’t still try, but he backed off when it was clear no one could compare. And now, three years later, many perks to Bilbo that Bard hadn’t given anyone else, _ever_ , even with Thorin out of the picture and out of Bilbo’s life, even with Bard still making his comments now and then, there was still no one that could ever compare to Thorin. Period.

            As Bilbo walked up to Bard’s office, he could see the door closed so he went right to his secretary.

            “Good morning, Maria,” Bilbo said to the young lady.

            “Good morning, Mister Baggins,” Maria said with a smile. No matter how many times Bilbo had insisted that she use his first name, Maria had refused. Bilbo had a feeling that Bard had more to do with that than any form of cold indifference.

            “I have an appointment this morning,” Bilbo stated.

            “You _did_ ,” Maria did with a slightly pained, apologetic face. “I’m afraid something has come up and Mr. Bowman wondered if you could see him on Wednesday instead.”

            It was no problem for Bilbo and frankly, given that Bard gave him a huge amount of freedom, Bilbo couldn’t be upset with the sudden change. Besides, he had to come downtown to see Andy anyway, so this just meant that he could grab a coffee, sit in the park and see Andy refreshed.

            “That’s perfectly fine,” Bilbo nodded and almost laughed when Maria got a very relieved look on her face.

            “I fear I only have an afternoon appointment available,” Maria offered and again looked pained.

            “What time?” Bilbo asked.

            “Three-thirty,” Maria confirmed.

            “That works,” Not that any time was bad really; he was a stay at home writer for goodness sake.

            It was then that Bard’s office door opened and the man himself stepped out. However, he was accompanied by a beautiful woman that Bilbo could swear he seen somewhere before.

            The young lady wore a smooth, tailored, fuchsia-colored dress; too deep to be pink, not quite red, it brought out, and flattered, the color in the her skin wonderfully. What really impressed Bilbo was that, the woman had a crutch and leg brace; not in some horrid, institutional silver; no, the crutch was colored the same as her dress while the leg brace had been covered in, what looked liked rhinestones or crystals and it sparkled in the light like diamonds. Bilbo was fascinated and impressed. Here was a lady who had no intention of hiding away what was, obviously, no deterrent to her person; she wore them proudly and in colors that were meant to be noticed, not hidden. Bilbo had to admit, he couldn’t say if he would have such courage and conviction.

            And she was truly lovely.

            Well, lovely wasn’t really the word to describe her; it was too banal. Her long, silky blond hair was parted on the side, cascading down and over her shoulders like a waterfall. She had freckles across her nose and cheeks but rather than making her look immature, she appeared youthful and vibrant.  It was the woman’s cornflower blue eyes that caught Bilbo’s attention. They were all together warm and approachable, and Bilbo could see the sharp intellect behind them. If eyes be the window to the soul, then here was a soul full life and purpose. She was more than lovely, she seemed to radiate a presence that made her hard to ignore—as if someone could.

            Bilbo had been so taken with the young lady that he failed to notice that she and Bard had stopped talking and had turned to him.

            “Bilbo!” Bard called, rousing Bilbo from his observations.

            “Bard,” Bilbo answered with a smile and walked over to the pair.

            “What are you doing here?” Bard asked confused.

            “Rescheduling my appointment with you,” Bilbo quipped with a raise eyebrow.

            “Oh yeah, sorry about that,” Bard offered with a shrug. “Board meeting; couldn’t be helped.”

            “It’s okay,” Bilbo said and turned to the young lady. “Hello. Since Bard isn’t going to introduce us, I’m Bilbo Baggins.”

            “Danika Sheals,” she said with a brilliant smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bilbo.” Danika offered a hand.

            “Likewise,” Bilbo replied, shaking hands.

            “Danika,” Bard interjected, “just signed on to be our new Bi/Pan columnist.”

            “Oh that’s great!” Bilbo was happy to hear that they were expanding their scope of coverage beyond the traditional communities. “It’s about time.”

            “That market is opening up,” Bard added, “I want _House Proud_ to be a leader, not a follower in it.”

            “ _That market is opening up_?” Danika repeated with quirked brows.

            “He makes it sound like it’s a grocery store,” Bilbo quipped. “Don’t pay any attention to him.”

            “Oi,” Bard said, clearly on the defensive, “As a bisexual myself, it’s time we had a clear voice.”

            “Agreed,” Danika stated. “Too many misconceptions and fallacies are being touted about. It’s time to set the record straight and make sure that people know they don’t have to fit any particular label if they don’t want to.”

            “Exactly!” Bard agreed enthusiastically.

            “And if Bard can sell more magazine subscriptions at the same time—” Bilbo said teasingly.

            “I _am_ a businessman,” Bard retorted. “If I can make sure that part of our community is heard _and_ sell more magazines, I find that a win-win.”

            Bilbo and Danika could only laugh. Bard was well known to have his finger on the next trend and as much as Bilbo hated the idea that a person’s sexuality would be labeled as a _‘trend’_ , it was good to have a correspondent that gave them a voice and equal treatment.

            “Well, either way,” Bilbo said, turning to Danika, “Welcome aboard.”

            “Thank you,” Danika said, “And if you’re interested, check out my tumblr as well.”

            “What’s the name?” Bilbo asked.

            “I go by _‘teenyblondini,’_ ” Danika answered.

            “Oh my God!” Bilbo felt stupid. “That’s where I’ve seen you before! I already follow you!”

            “Oh, well, thank you,” Danika said with a slight blush to her cheeks. “I take it you like my posts?”

            “Totally,” Bilbo replied. “You’re insightfulness and points of view have really given me inspiration for several of my shorts and have really opened my eyes to things I hadn’t even considered.”

            “Thank you,” Danika stated again, “I’m really pleased to hear that.”

            “I should be thanking you,” Bilbo added and got them both chuckling.

            “If you will excuse me,” Bard cut in, “I have got to get to my meeting. Danika, as Bilbo said, welcome aboard—”

            “Thank you for giving us a voice.”

            “Bilbo, I will see you on—” Bard turned to his secretary for assistance.

            “Wednesday afternoon,” Maria supplied.

            “I will see you on Wednesday afternoon,” Bard finished, not the least bit embarrassed at having to rely on Maria.

            “See you then,” Bilbo answered before turning to Danika. “And it was such a pleasure to meet you in person!”

            “The same to you, Bilbo,” Danika shook Bilbo’s hand. “Hope to see you again.”

            “Me too,” Bilbo added and watched her walk away. He was again impressed with her poise and grace and made a mental note to make sure to seek her out again. She was the type of person one _had_ to be friends with. Bilbo turned back to his boss, “Bard, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

            “Take care, handsome,” Bard said quietly and gave Bilbo a wink before closing his office door.

            After all this time, Bard still tried. Bilbo just laughed to himself, but again, Bard wasn’t Thorin. _No one was,_ Bilbo thought, as he went to say good-bye to Ori and head out to get coffee and his appointment with Andy.

           

            -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            There were many things that deserve to be protected. The planet, for one, the oceans, the rainforests, _old-growth_ forests, endangered species; the list was endless depending on the person and their sensitivities.

            In terms of humans, there were just as many things that needed to be protected. Everything form one’s own person to family and friends were all considered to need protection at some point or another. This could also include a person’s virtue, their reputation, but particularly their personal information; from bank account, to address, to their medical status. And there were few things that were as well protected under our personal health information as our mental health records.

            Dr Gandalf Grey knew this better than most. He had seen how the mental health of a patient could take its toll, not only on the patient but those around them. That was why such information was legally protected. Why, if anyone, other than his practice partners, Elrond and Arwen, where to ask about a specific patient, his answer was always the same, ‘I can neither confirm nor deny that I even know such a person.’ End of conversation. And he swore, with ease, that he would always vigorously protect the doctor/patient relationship with his patients, and any and all information given to him in the confines of his office with the clear understanding that it went no further. It was just never to be questioned.

            However, this was one of those times that Gandalf wanted to scream at the heavens because his hands were tied.

            For almost an hour he had listened to Bilbo Baggins tell a tale that was not only a surprise to him but, due to a unbelievable, almost perverse twist of fate, he knew the other side of the story.

            Unfortunately, Gandalf couldn’t even tell Bilbo Baggins he knew Thorin Durin, let alone share anything that had been told him!

            Insufferable could barely describe the situation.

            “You’re not saying anything,” Bilbo said quietly.

            Gandalf shook himself. “I’m sorry, my boy,” he replied. “Lost in my own thoughts.”

            “Are you very angry with me?” Bilbo asked.

            “I’m … disappointed that you felt you couldn’t share the full truth with me.”

            “You knew the basics,” Bilbo stated. “I fell in love, he went to away, he returned and chose another, got married and that was it. Beyond tiny details and his name, the rest is true.”

            _No it’s not_ , Gandalf thought. _Far from it—or so I’ve been told._

            Gandalf had to work around the subject. “How can you be sure he actually married?” Gandalf inquired. _Because I know for a fact he never did._

            “Andy,” Bilbo huffed out, “I saw him with her! I’m not blind.”

            “But you never spoke to him?”

            “What was there to talk about?” Bilbo shrugged. “The truth was right there and confirmed for me.”

            Gandalf thought about that for a minute. He admired Bilbo and what he had gone through and, if Gandalf was honest, he felt that Bilbo was like a son to him. That was why he couldn’t always let Bilbo off the hook, Bilbo was sounding a bit too sanctimonious for Gandalf’s taste.

            “You said, you promised to wait,” Gandalf repeated, almost mockingly. “You promised to hold on to your dreams and yet when the going got tough, you walked away.”

            “What?” Bilbo asked, a bit stunned.

            “You never spoke to Thorin directly. You talked to others, but not the man you promised to love, always. You walked away in the end.”

            “Andy,” Bilbo said offended. “I’m not that one that left for another.”

            “No,” Gandalf stated. “But you did leave.”

            “So ... what? It’s my fault?!”

            “I never said that. But it strikes me as rather dubious on your part, that you accuse Thorin of abandonment, when, in the end, you did the very same thing.”

            Bilbo sat there for a minute, obviously absorbing what Gandalf had said, before shaking himself back to reality. “Look, I did what I thought was right; I set him free. I only ever wanted him to be happy; if I couldn’t make him happy, then he should be with the one who did. I did what he wanted.”

            “What he wanted,” Gandalf parroted Bilbo again. “Funny, did he tell you what he wanted?”

            “I think under the circumstances, one could easily assume—”

            “You know the old saying about assuming, Bilbo; it seems to me that you have, indeed, made an ass of yourself. And while I won’t say that Thorin is blameless, you cannot deny, you must share an equal part in the abandonment.”

            Gandalf truly did feel badly, especially seeing the pained look on Bilbo’s face.   But there was no getting around it; neither Bilbo nor Thorin had sought the other out and demanded explanations. If they had …

            Gandalf let his head fall back and he stared at the ceiling. He knew Bilbo’s story to be full of contradictions and, he suspected, lies. Not that Bilbo was lying; he knew the boy far too well for that. Nor did he believe that Thorin was lying, either.

            _None of this makes any sense,_ he thought. _Durin believes Bilbo abandoned him, yet here was Bilbo convinced that he had been left for another. Yet Durin has never been married, according to both him and his sister’s initial meeting with Gandalf. But now Bilbo claims to have seen this woman._

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said, looking back at his young friend, “About this wife—”

            Bilbo huffed out of frustration. “Andy,” Bilbo insisted, “I don’t want to discuss the wife; it’s over and done with now.” Bilbo was getting some of his equilibrium back. “Thorin told me that he had considered at one point taking the easy way out and just getting married and being done with it.   So, while I’m hurt, I really can’t be that surprised that he chose to have a _conventional_ life; hell, I think he may have tried to warn me—he told me he was politically conservative, that his family was extremely rich and well connected, and maybe when he returned he thought it would be better to live a straight life.

            “But that is neither here nor there; it was running into Thorin last week that was upsetting for me and I realize that while I will never love another, I’ve got to move on.”

            Gandalf’s gaze turned soft. “Bilbo, you can love again.”

            “No, Andy,” Bilbo said quietly and with total conviction. “He may have chosen to love another, but I promised to wait for him, even if that wait was forever.”

            “But, if he loves another as you say?” Gandalf asked.

            “Andy,” Bilbo said with a bittersweet smile. “I didn’t just make the promise to him, it made to myself, to my own heart. And I gave my heart to him, even though he rejected it.”

            _Oh Bilbo,_ Gandalf used every last fiber of his being to keep his face neutral. _If only you how the loss of you has haunted, and I suspect tormented, Thorin._

“So, you see,” Bilbo continued, “I need to truly let him go; I have to have some sort of closure to move forward.”

            “Move forward,” Gandalf said, as the wheels clicked into place. “Yes, Bilbo, you need to move forward. However, sometimes in order to move forward, one must be willing to go back.”

            “What?” Bilbo quipped sardonically. “Go back in hospital under psychiatric care?”

            “No, Bilbo,” Gandalf replied, unamused, “you need to talk to Thorin, and I am more than willing to mediate.” _Because if I can get the two of you in the same room, I may be able to truly heal you both._

            “Not going to happen,” Bilbo said empathically.

            “Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”

            “Hardly! But I will tell you, after seeing his reaction to me on Friday, there is no way you’re getting Thorin Durin to sit down and talk with me, let alone come in to this office!”

            There was a knock on the door and a moment later it opened.

            “Sorry to interrupt,” Arwen said. “I just wanted to let you know that your one o’clock appointment is here already.”

            “Thank you, my dear,” Gandalf said as Arwen closed the door. _My one_ _o’clock_ _is early and … sweet lady of forest, my one_ _o’clock_ _is Thorin Durin!_

            _Shit!_

Had this been some sort of romantic comedy, this would be hilarious, but it wasn’t any such thing. While the timing was perfect, there was no way Gandalf could just spring this on Thorin. If he did, the man would think it set-up on purpose, probably ruin all the work Gandalf had done to get Thorin to this point, make him even angrier with Bilbo and most likely cut all ties with Gandalf, leaving Thorin and Bilbo drifting further apart.

            _Their meeting will have to wait._

            “Bilbo, my boy,” Gandalf said, “I’m sorry to cut this short—”

            “It’s okay,” Bilbo said, standing up. “Paying clients come first. Besides I can always see you for lunch in the next few days.”

            “Exactly,” Gandalf replied with a smile. “Do consider having that conversation though.”

            “I’m willing,” Bilbo said, not knowing that Gandalf cheered inside. “But it’s going to take a miracle to get Thorin to agree.”

            “You leave that to me,” Gandalf said offhandedly.

            “What does _that_ mean?” Bilbo asked inquisitively. “Are you connected with his family or something?”

            Gandalf thought quickly for a plausible explanation. “I just meant that … I will see about moving you … forward … to that point.”

            Bilbo looked confused for a second but then shrugged. “Okay.”

            However, as they went to the door, Gandalf realized that he couldn’t let Bilbo leave out the front—right past Thorin. “Bilbo,” Gandalf seized Bilbo’s arm. “I hate to ask this, but my one o’clock is a rather eccentric individual—”

            “Probably why they’re coming to see you,” Bilbo said dryly.

            “—and they prefer that no one sees them,” Gandalf laughed and hoped it didn’t sound too fake. “As such, would you mind terribly, going out the back way?”

            “Whatever.” Bilbo shrugged again, but made his way to the back and went out the back entrance.

            Gandalf took a few deep breaths and calmed himself completely. There was much at stake here and, thanks to Bilbo’s confession, he now had far more information about Thorin Durin then he would have had in a year of sessions with man alone. He hadn’t counted on putting his plan into action so soon, but if he was right, he would not only be able to bring some sort of resolution to Thorin and Bilbo’s relationship but also reach into the very reason for Thorin’s anxiety and supposed PTSD.

            Gandalf walked the hallway to the door to the front reception room and opened it.

            “Good afternoon,” Gandalf said smiling at Thorin.

            “Afternoon,” Thorin said hesitantly. It was clear to Gandalf that Thorin was apprehensive.  

            _All the better for my plan._ “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Gandalf stated, stepping aside and motioning for Thorin to come through. “Go on down to my office; I just need to speak with a colleague for a moment.”

            Thorin shot Gandalf a look that spoke volumes of annoyance but he said nothing and went on down to Gandalf’s office.

            “Arwen,” Gandalf whispered loudly as he looked in the counselor’s office. “Let your father know that Durin is here and that I am putting my plan into action today.”

            The Psychotherapist stilled. “Gandalf, I must urge you to reconsider.”

            “I understand your trepidation—”

            “I don’t believe you do. Your course of action could have serious, lasting repercussions. I cannot stress enough the danger that you—”

            “I know it’s dangerous, but I also believe that it will provide the perfect opportunity to get to the bottom of Durin’s issues.”

            “There are other ways, Gandalf. Psychoanalysis, Hypnosis, Regression Therapy—”

            “All of which I have considered and rejected for this particular case.”

            Arwen held Gandalf’s gaze and sighed. “I hope you know that I’ve put a formal letter of objection into Durin’s chart.”

            Gandalf wasn’t surprise or even offended. “I would expect no less from you, my dear.”

            “Father has fewer reservations regarding this … _procedure_ of yours, than I do, and even he has filed his own letter.”

            “I know,” Gandalf would be lying if he said he didn’t have his own concerns. “But, I take full responsibility for any adverse outcome.”

            “That’ll be cold comfort for Durin and his family if this goes wrong.”

            Gandalf nodded but said no more. He knew he was risking not only his reputation and his very licensure, but also Thorin’s health.

            Gandalf turned and walked off as Arwen left to inform her father and ready any medication which may be needed for when this was over.

            “Sorry about that,” Gandalf said with false cheer as he entered his office and closed the door. “How are you feeling?”

            “Fine,” Thorin said in what Gandalf thought was a tired voice.

            _Fine is not what you’re feeling,_ Gandalf thought. “Your sister mentioned you had an episode on Friday. Want to talk about it?”

            “No,” Thorin said looking at the floor before looking directly back at Gandalf. “But that _is_ why I’m here so it’s not about what I _want_ is it?”

            “Not really,” Gandalf stated. “What happened?” _From your point of view, I already have the other side._

            Thorin sat for a minute, just taking some breaths in what Gandalf had already come to know was the man’s way of gathering his thoughts. “You remember I told you about …” Thorin seemed to be lost in his own memories for a moment, “about the guy I met in Brighton.”

            “Yes, the young man you’re in love with.” Gandalf wasn’t going to let Thorin off easy.

            “That one that _abandoned_ me,” Thorin spat out but Gandalf could hear that some of the vitriol had been lost.

            “What about him?”

            “I, uhm …” Thorin swallowed and took a breath. “I ran into him on Friday.”

            “And that upset you.”

            “Of course it upset me!” Thorin sneered. “I wasn’t prepared. He was just … he was just standing there.”

            “Did you speak with him?”

            “No, not … not really.”

            “Not really. What did you _‘not really’_ say?”

            “Just his name.”

            _Interesting. Especially since you never mentioned it before now._ “Which is?”

            “Baggins.”

            Gandalf gave a silent sigh that Thorin missed. _Stubborn._ “Unusual first name.”

            Thorin rolled his eyes. “That’s his _last_ name.”

            “So all you said was his last name and that was it? Rather short conversation.”

            “Are you taking the piss?” Thorin sneered.

            “Yes,” Gandalf said bluntly. “I’m trying to get you to tell me _exactly_ what happened and what you said.”

            Thorin’s jaw twitched and he looked like he was about to chew nails. “Fine,” Thorin snapped, slumping a bit against the back of the couch like an sullen teenager. “I went to lunch with my cousin. We were meeting his new fling, who apparently had a surprise of some kind, which turned out to be his roommate, who also was—” Thorin stopped and Gandalf suspected that Bilbo’s name was right on the tip of Thorin’s tongue. “—was the guy who betrayed me.”

            _Say his name, damnit!_ “And what did your young-man say?”

            “Just my name,” Thorin said quietly and got a strange, painful look on his face at the memory.

            “And then you called him by his last name only.”

            “No, I … I called him Professor.”

            “He’s a professor?”

            “Yes. Well, no. I mean … he was, last I saw him.”

            “So, does _Professor_ Baggins have a first name?”

            “Of course,” Thorin said with another eye roll but didn’t provide anything further.

            “What. Is. It.” Gandalf was almost done playing this game.

            “Why that fuck does it matter!” Thorin was getting mad.

            _Good. Get angry, Thorin. I need you angry, it opens you up._ “It all matters. Or are you too scared to say it?”

            “I’m not scared of shit!”

            “Say his name."

            “Look! Don’t—”

            “Say it.”

            “You’re pushing, old man!”

            “Fucking say his name!"

            “BILBO!” Thorin bellowed. “His name is Bilbo Baggins!”

            Gandalf was pleased. “See, easy. What’s the problem?”

            “BECAUSE BILBO LIED TO ME!” Thorin snarled, hitting his chest with his fist. “HE SAID HE LOVED ME!   MY FATHER HATED ME, MY MOTHER DIDN’T CARE, MY SISTER WAS POWERLESS AND FRERIN—FRERIN TOOK THE EASY WAY OUT! BUT BILBO SAID HE LOVED ME! LOVED ME FOR ME, FOR WHO I WAS, NOT WHO HE WANTED ME TO BE! HE TOLD ME HE LOVED ME AND THEN HE BETRAYED ME! HE ABANDONED ME! BILBO BAGGINS BROKE HIS PROMISE TO ME!”

            _No,_ Gandalf thought, _no he didn’t._ “You keep brandishing that word about; _abandoned.”_ Gandalf stated quietly. “Tell me, Thorin, what did you say to him when you were finally healed and cleared from hospital? What did you say when you saw him again?”

            “What that fuck are you talking about?” Thorin shot out, still breathing heavy after his outburst. “I never saw him; he never came to see me.”

            _Not the story I was told._ “I see,” Gandalf said with a cocked eyebrow. “So you were discharged, went home, resumed your life and it never _once_ crossed your mind to seek him out and talk to him. Doesn’t sound like he was the only one to abandon the relationship.”

            “He wrote me that he didn’t want to see me again!” Thorin spat out. “I wasn’t about to go begging.”

            Gandalf sat up straight but hid his shock. “He wrote you that?”

            Thorin laughed with no humor. “He promised to write me every day. But in the end, I only ever got one fucking letter from him; while I was in hospital, recovering. That’s when I learned he abandoned me. Couldn’t take it. Said he never wanted to see me again. So I granted him his wish.” Thorin sneered at that last line, totally missing the utter confusion in Gandalf’s face.

            _This is madness,_ Gandalf concluded. _Bilbo told me one thing, now Thorin tells me another. If I didn’t know they were talking about each other, I would never fit this together, because it_ doesn’t _fit together. None of this makes any sense at all. How can they both be right and yet, both be so completely and totally opposite of what the other believes?_

Thorin’s wasn’t really a case of PTSD, it was more likely disassociation; Thorin was acting out on one issue, his mind focusing on this singular battle, but there was something else behind it. The battle flashbacks were masking a much deeper problem. Gandalf had always suspected more but thought that the abandonment of Thorin’s great love was the issue, but it went deeper than that.

            Gandalf figured he had enough information now; it was time for his plan to be put into action. It was horrid, it was wildly unethically, potentially dangerous, but he needed information that Thorin would not give up voluntarily. Thorin’s comment earlier about his brother and his inordinate use of the word _“loved”_ —past tense—only seemed to add to his suspensions.

            In his office, Gandalf had, long ago, set up a wide-screen, fifty-five inch television. Not for entertainment purposes, mind you, but hypnosis and imagine therapy videos, to help relax and open a patient’s mind. But today was different. He had spent the last week, recording, downloading, and editing fragments together until he had exactly what he needed.

            Gandalf flicked a button on the seldom-used computer in the corner of his desk. Thorin was startled as the television seemed to turn on by itself and the as the device warmed up, Gandalf double-clicked the video file he had made and waited.

            Suddenly the room filled with the sounds and images of battle, gunfire, explosions, and screaming; spliced together bits and pieces of news footage and movies. Thorin jerked in his seat and moved as fast and far away as possible, plastering himself into the corner of the couch, furthest from the television.

            “What hell are you doing?” Thorin demanded in a strangled voice, his eyes wide with fear.

            “What’s the matter, Thorin,” Gandalf watching Thorin closely. “It’s only a video.”

            “Turn it off!” Thorin ordered.

            “No,” Gandalf said flatly.

            “I SAID TURN IT OFF!” Thorin was starting to shake, even Gandalf could see from across the room and sweat had broken out on his face.

            “It isn’t necessarily strange,” Gandalf continued calmly, all the while watching the expression of terror spread over Thorin’s face. “That a man can be in near countless battles for years and not have a single issue, but his mind can plague him with one in particular.”

            “STOP IT!” Thorin brought his arms up to cross over his eyes but Gandalf was already moving to stop him.

            “But this isn’t really about the battle is it, Thorin?” Gandalf demanded, pulling Thorin’s sweat soaked arms away from his face. “Why does that last battle haunt you still?”

            “LET GO OF ME!” Thorin commanded, trying to break Gandalf’s grip.

            But Gandalf was not weak and he held on, struggling to get Thorin to answer him. “What is it that bothers you about this? This isn’t just about what you went through, or your injuries!”

            As if on cue, Thorin succeeded in pulling away, but as he tried to stand, he was trembling too much and stumbled, exposing the one injury he tried so desperately to hide all these years, the prosthetic that made up the lower half of his right leg.

            Dis had told Gandalf that Thorin had lost his lower right leg in the battle, but Thorin never mentioned it himself, never talked about it, always wore long pants and did his best to hide the fact. But Gandalf had a feeling that too was part of the issue.

            Thorin was now completely in the throes on his attack and he sat, hunched against the couch, trying to shield his face and cover his ears form the sounds and images that were inescapable; the ones in his mind.

            “Please, stop it!” Thorin cried. “Please!”

            But Gandalf couldn’t stop now. “TELL ME, THORIN!” Gandalf shouted, grabbing Thorin by the front of his shirt and hauling him upright , exposing yet another hidden reminder of his trauma; the tracheostomy scar in the hollow of this throat. “Why did you go to war, Thorin?”

            “Please, stop,” Thorin begged, but it went unheeded.

            “You didn’t _really_ go to be part of something bigger, something better,” Gandalf ground out, “That’s the lie you live with everyday!”

            “Please,” Thorin pleaded.

            “You said your father hated you and your mother didn’t care. You went into the army because you needed to feel you belonged! Didn’t you?!”

            Thorin turned his head refusing to answer, but Gandalf already figured it out.

            “Your sister told me that before you got out, you had insisted that you wanted to find someone for yourself, you wanted what she had; a home, a spouse, children—you knew you would lose that feeling of belonging, you needed that, because you couldn’t go back to being nothing in your parent’s eyes.”

            Again, Thorin refused to answer but his tears began to roll down his cheeks as he started crying.

            Gandalf pushed. “You mentioned last week about the young men who threw their lives away! But you weren’t talking about strangers, you were talking about you!”

            Thorin’s crying was turning to sobs but he still didn’t answer.

            “It was you, wasn’t it?!” Gandalf demanded. “You couldn’t bring yourself to take your own life like your brother, who took _‘the easy way out_.’ So you went into the army, hoping to die in battle, die with honor, to die with some kind of meaning; because you felt your parents didn’t care if you lived or died! Isn’t that right?!”

            Thorin mumbled something out but Gandalf couldn’t hear it over the near-choking sobs.

            “TELL ME!”

            “YES! YES, I WANTED TO DIE!”   

            “And that’s why you never wanted a partner or lover while in the army—because you were hoping to die before coming back!”

            “Yes!”

            “So all those years, all those battles before your last,” Gandalf stated firmly, “there was no fear of battle or death. Because you had no reason to fear it! You wanted to die!”       

            “Yes!”

            “Oh, but then you met Bilbo Baggins and you suddenly knew what it was to be loved for yourself alone, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

            Thorin nodded, sobbing.

            “Then you left him behind, _you felt you abandoned him_ , you returned to the war, and finally, you had a reason to fear—to fear death,” Gandalf stated, “Because Bilbo had given you a _REASON TO LIVE_!”

            “Yes!” Thorin’s voice was bordering on hysterical now.

            The door to Gandalf’s office flew open and Elrond and Arwen came in.

            “Gandalf, I think that’s enough—” Elrond started but Gandalf waved him off.

            “And all this time,” Gandalf continued, turning back to Thorin, “All this hatred you say you hold for Bilbo, it wasn’t really for him is it, was it Thorin?!”

            Thorin couldn’t form the words.

            “ANSWER ME!  

            “Gandalf, stop,” Arwen pleaded but Gandalf ignored her.

            “YOUR HATRED WASN’T FOR HIM, WAS IT?!”

            “NO!” Thorin finally got out.

            “It was yourself you hated!” Gandalf said. “Because you felt guilty for leaving him in the first place, you couldn’t stop loving him, and _you couldn’t let him go_ , but you didn’t have the conviction to follow Frerin’s example after the loss of his love!”

            Thorin only nodded because they both knew it was true.

            “So you convinced yourself that you hated him, because while it takes two to love, it only takes one to hate!”

            “YES!” Thorin screamed out. “I STILL LOVE HIM! BUT HE WILL NEVER LOVE ME AS A CRIPPLE!”           

            There it was. The poison at the heart of it all.

            Gandalf stood back and allowed Elrond and Arwen to help Thorin back onto the couch. Elrond brought out a syringe of Ativan to help calm Thorin. Gandalf turned around and shut the video off; the only sounds were Thorin’s still labored breathing and Arwen’s murmured, soothing words to Thorin as she supported him in sitting up.

            Gandalf felt like he had fought a great beast; he was exhausted and drained. But he had won in the end.

            “In the end,” Gandalf said as he took his chair and finally caught his breath. “This wasn’t about his abandonment or you being betrayed. You took the resentment you felt for what happened to you, life’s cruel betrayal of your injuries, you took the fear of his suspected reaction to you and the hatred you felt for yourself and you projected it all on to Bilbo.”

            “My father always told me I had nothing to offer someone,” Thorin sobbed quietly out, “even before I was hurt. How could Bilbo ever love me again, when I’m nothing but a scarred, useless cripple with nothing to offer him?”

            Gandalf didn’t even have the strength to laugh at that statement. _Oh, Thorin, you have no idea._

“You need to talk with him,” Gandalf said.

            “I can’t,” Thorin said brokenly, shaking his head empathically. “I can’t.”

            “You can,” Gandalf reiterated. “And in time, you will.” _Because, by God, if I can’t bring you two together, there’ll be no hope for either of you._ Gandalf took a deep breath and let it out. “When you are ready, Thorin, I want to talk about this letter of yours.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            The day hadn’t been too bad. Dis was busy, granted, but there were no real fires and she was easily about to prioritize. Some clients could wait for a few days. _That’s those out of the way._ A couple could be given to Dwalin to handle. _He’ll keep them inline long enough for Thorin to return._ A few had to be done today but were understanding about Thorin’s sudden absence. But there was always that one client that had to be taken care of personally and delicately. Naturally that was the one Dis had to get more information for.

            Dis walked over to Thorin’s office, greeted Harriet, Thorin’s secretary, and let herself in. The broken door had been replaced but the office had been left as it had been on Friday afternoon. Sure, the workmen had pushed the glass on the floor out of the way to work but nothing else was done.

            “Harriet,” Dis called out.

            “Yes, ma’am?” Harriet called back, as she looked into the office.

            “Could you leave the cleaning crew a note to have this office cleaned top to bottom?”

            “They should have done that last night, but I’ll call them and tell them to take care of it right away.”

            “Thank you.”

            Dis walked over to Thorin’s filing cabinet and pulled open the appropriate drawer. She scanned the files quickly and it didn’t take long for her to realize that the one she needed wasn’t there.

            _Must have it over by his desk_ , Dis mused as she turned and check Thorin’s credenza first.  Not there either. That just left the desk itself.

            Sure enough the file she wanted was in on the desk, under a few other current client folders that Thorin had clearly gotten out to deal with. Dis noticed that the normally neat desk was a mess but she would leave that for Thorin to deal with; not only did he dislike someone going through his things, Dis felt he needed to clean up his own messes—and he could start with his desk.

            As she turned away, she saw that the right bottom drawer of the desk was opened and she noticed something odd. She pulled the draw open fully and that was when she saw the false bottom with a lock—which wasn’t engaged.

            She knew she shouldn’t, she really thought better, but her curiosity was too great and taking in the state of the desk, Thorin’s state on Friday and everything else that happened, she wondered if what was in there had any connection to Thorin’s episode. Reaching down, she pulled up on the small door and saw that there were only two things inside; a train ticket for one from Brighton to London dated August, 2010 and a dirty, ragged, folded piece of paper. As she unfolded what turned out to be a letter, Dis’ stomach flopped and she felt sick. _Who would write such a horrid letter?_ She looked down but there was only a first name; Bilbo.

            _Who the hell is Bilbo?_

            “Harriet,” Dis called out loudly.

            A moment letter, Thorin’s secretary was at the door. “Yes, ma’am?”

            “Who did Thorin have scheduled for his lunch meeting on Friday?”

            “He didn’t have one scheduled.”

            Dis was confused. “You said he went out to lunch.” Thorin just didn’t leave unless there was a meeting or something work related.

            “He did,” Harriet insisted. “But he went with Mister Fundinson.”

            _What?_ “With Dwalin?” Dis asked surprised. _Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?_ The answer came immediately to her; because she didn’t ask. Harriet had only said that Thorin came back from lunch, but Dis failed to ask further. And she hadn’t spoken to Dwalin since Friday morning.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Harriet continued. “I believe that they were meeting an associate of Mister Fundinson’s.”

            “An associate? Do you remember the name?” Although Dis was sure she knew.

            “I want to say his name was like … Orange or something.”

            “Ori, perhaps?”

            “That’s it! They were meeting him for lunch. Or rather, Mister Fundinson was and, if I understood correctly, Mister Durin was simply going along.”

            “I see,” Dis said. “Thank you.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Harriet said and then turned to leave.

            Dis reached over and picked up Thorin’s desk phone, dialing Dwalin’s extension without thought; she could dial that number in her sleep. The phone rang only once before a cool, collected, female voice answered the phone.

            “Mister Fundinson’s office,” Carolyn answered.

            “Carolyn,” Dis said, knowing she didn’t need to identify herself. “I need to speak with Dwalin.”

            “I’m sorry, Missus Durin, but—”

            “I don’t want to hear he isn’t taking calls, Carolyn,” Dis was in no mood for Dwalin’s games. “This is important and I will come down there and—”

            “As I was about to say, Missus Durin,” Carolyn said distinctly, with a slight edge to her tone, “Mister Fundinson isn’t here.”

            “Oh,” Dis felt a tiny bit foolish but, fuck it. “When will he be back?”

            “Not until the morning,” Carolyn replied. “He left early as he and Ori have dinner plans with his father and brother.”

            “Do me a favor, please,” Dis said. “Leave him a note or an email or _something_ ; I need to see him first thing tomorrow morning, as soon as possible.”

            “Will do,” Carolyn said and they both hung up.

            Dis knew that the message would get delivered; only the second coming would be enough to make Carolyn forget. Dis could wait; she promised Thorin she wouldn’t push him, but she didn’t make any such promise about others. She picked up the letter to read it again; almost committing it to memory.

 

 

 

 

 _Thorin_ _October 13, 2010_

 

_I been told what you gone through. And I wouldn’t wished in on my worst enemy._

_But it is more than I signed up for; it is too much to handle. Some things arebeyond my ability to cope with them._

_I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but there it is._

_I knew we’d made a lot of promises but I made them during a different time and to a different man._

_This is too much for me and I think it best we not see each other ever again._

_It is better you know now and move on – it’s better if we both do._

_I am sorry, so much._

_Bilbo_

 

 

 

           

            Dis read the letter over and over. _Whoever it is has the worst handwriting in the world and, God, where the hell did they go to school?_ Dis thought. _N_ _ot to mention rambling; I think Kili has better prose than this person. I hope they don’t sound this much like an idiot when they speak._

All that aside, Dis knew that such a letter was wretched and uncalled for. Who could write such a thing and live with themselves? She didn’t know, but she did care. She would find them, and God help them, she’d take them to task.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danika Sheals is indeed - a real person. A good friend and insightful commentator, you can follower on on tumblr here: http://teenyblondini.tumblr.com/ or check out her photography on flickr here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/teeny_blondini/
> 
> \-----------
> 
> Gandalf's "procedure" is truly, highly unprofessional and bordering on unethical, and yet - it is not illegal. Needless to say, he is unconventional.


	15. TUESDAY - Two Plus One Equals Zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin makes Ori an offer and Dis wants to get information - in anyway she can.

* * *

 

 

            It was like something out of Disney movie; Ori dreamt this sentient vapor came rolling through the air, tickling his nose with wispy fingers that slowly pulled him upright, led him into the kitchen, took a mug from the cupboard, poured the wondrous, black liquid into the mug, adding sweet cream and sugar, then pressed the mug into Ori’s hand for him to imbibe the caffeine-rich, delicious confection.

            Ahhhh … heaven

            Of course, reality was quite different.

 

            Ori had practically stumbled out of the bedroom, in a daze, into the unfamiliar surroundings of Dwalin’s flat. He had become so used to having Bilbo already up, coffee _already_ brewing; breakfast _already_ cooking, that standing in the middle of a cold empty kitchen in the morning was just weird.

            Hell, there wasn’t even a coffee maker in sight!

            Ori looked around; the kitchen was almost aseptically clean. _Talk about fucking weird,_ Ori thought. He was used to the organized chaos that was Bilbo’s lair, as he called their kitchen at home. This place, on the other hand, didn’t even have a bowl, casually set on end of the surface filled with fruit! Ori wondered how Dwalin kept it all so clean; he loved the man with all his heart, but Dwalin didn’t strike him as the Nigella Lawson type. Did he have like elves tucked away somewhere that came out at night and took care of all cleaning?!

            _They’re called maids_ , Ori’s little voice reminded him. _Oh, yeah._

            After a few minutes exploring, he finally found the coffee maker squirreled away in something that looked like a little garage.   He started the coffee, pulled out eggs and bread from the fridge, and started making breakfast. He wasn’t food-talented like Bilbo, but he could make French toast.

            He had just finished the first two pairs of toast, when his love joined him. Dwalin wore only a pair of long pajama bottoms, which did next to nothing to hide the man’s thick cock that swayed with each step Dwalin took; not that Ori was complaining. Dwalin’s thick-furred chest and stomach were wondrously on display and Ori couldn’t resist reaching out and running a hand through it.

            “Coffee,” Dwalin practically pleaded.

            Ori handed Dwalin a mug—it was the biggest one Ori had found. Dwalin filled it three-quarters full of coffee, added a generous amount of cold milk and then proceeded to down most of it in a few large gulps.

            “I need fuel,” Dwalin said with a shrug when he noticed that Ori appeared startled. He leaned over and gave Ori a quick kiss on the forehead.

            “Good morning,” Ori said as he continued cooking.

            “I love French toast, by the way” Dwalin said, as he pulled a couple of plates from an overheard cupboard and retrieved flatware from a nearby drawer.

            “Thank God!” Ori quipped. “It’s the one thing I can make. If you had wanted something else, I fear you would’ve ended up disappointed.”

            “Were those eggs still good?” Dwalin said casually.

            That brought Ori to a standstill. “I didn’t notice.”

            Dwalin walked over, sniffed over the cooking toast and shrugged. “Smells fine.”           

           _Right._ Ori thought it best to just resume cooking and forget the last few comments. Of course, Ori couldn’t hide the look on his face.

            Dwalin laughed softly as he went to set the small table then came back. “Do you need me to do anything?”

            _Yeah, taste test!_ “Just eat,” Ori said instead, putting the second pair of finished French toast on a plate and then starting a third. “Although, if you have any, could you pour me some juice?”

            “I think I have something,” Dwalin said, looking in the fridge. It wasn’t like there was a great deal of choice; he was man that lived alone; he usually just ate out. Spying a small bottle in the back, behind all the condiments, Dwalin pulled it out to find that not only had it been opened, but that it expired about 4 months before. “Sorry, babe. No go on the juice.”

            “Oh well,” Ori said with a smile; he actually thought it funny. “I can grab a bottle on the way into the office.”

            “I promise to have this fridge fully stocked by the weekend,” Dwalin said, grabbing the plate of now finished toast as Ori scrambled the remaining beaten eggs.

            Ori said dryly, “Expecting me to sleepover a lot, are you?”

            Dwalin stilled and looked at Ori with something like apprehension. Dwalin’s mouth opened as if to say something, but nothing came out. It only took a second for Ori to realize what exactly he’d said.

            And how it sounded.

            “That was supposed to be funny,” Ori said quietly. “But it didn’t quite come out the way I meant it.”

            Dwalin just sighed and sat down. “No, you’re right.”

            “How do you mean?” Now Ori was apprehensive; had he pushed too far?

            “I just mean,” Dwalin stated, “that I don’t want you to feel that I _expect_ anything from you.”

            “I don’t feel that,” Ori added quickly, attempting to salvage the mood. “Love, I’ve never felt that.”

            Dwalin took breath. “I don’t want you to feel, that I don’t respect you—”

            “I know that,” Ori stated.

            “—or that I only want you here for my pleasure—”

            “I don’t,” Ori added

            “—because if you did—”

            “No! I swear I don’t!”

            Dwalin reached over and took both of Ori’s hands in his own, quieting the younger man and allowing the silence to linger for a minute. “Ori. I don’t say these things to upset you; I say them to confess something.” Dwalin took a deep breath and released it. “I don’t expect you to sleepover or move in, but I just want you to know that … that you’re the best thing in my life, and when you’re ready ... know that I want to share that life with you.”

            Ori hesitated for all of two seconds before throwing his arms around Dwalin’s neck and pulling the bear-like man into a fierce kiss. It was when they gently pulled apart that Ori fixed Dwalin with a sweet smile, cocked a cheeky eyebrow and whispered, “You know, I would have been happy if you just said ‘Good morning’, but I’ll take your offer gladly.”

            Dwalin hung his head a chuckle, but Ori grew a bit more serious and tender.

            “I don’t know when I’ll be ready to move in—”

            “I know, babe.”

            “—and I have my own life—”

            “I won’t take that away from you.”

            “—but I want to share my life with you, too.”

            It was Dwalin’s turn to bestow a kiss on Ori’s cheek. “Personally, I prefer this to just ‘Good morning.’” That made Ori laugh and Dwalin thrilled at the sound.

            “You realize something don’t you?”

            “What?” Dwalin asked with a smirk, slicing a large corner of his toast with the side of his fork. “Our breakfast is getting cold?”

            “No,” Ori said, demurely cutting his toast with a knife. “You’ll have to meet my brother, Dori.”

            “I’ll be glad to do that,” Dwalin said a shrug. What was the big deal?

            Ori nodded as he chewed and then swallowed. “You know how overprotective Balin can be?” Ori asked casually.

            “Don’t remind me,” Dwalin answered firmly.

            “You know how intimidating Dis can be?”

            “Yes.”

            “You know how imperious Carolyn can be?”

            “Yeah,” Dwalin was starting to wonder where this was going.

            “You know how blunt your cousin Thorin can be.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Well, imagine combining them all together,” Ori said giving Dwalin a sweet smile. “And you have Dori.”

            Dwalin sat for a minute and imagined. “Shit.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dwalin was running late. Not that he was bothered about it, nor would he have made different choices; between getting ready at a leisurely pace and having a quick fuck in the shower—well, it really wasn’t much of a choice.

            And it wasn’t like there was much going on a work. Even with taking on the few extra clients from Thorin, work hadn’t been that difficult on Monday. He hadn’t talked to Dis about Friday; he had been kind of distracted this past weekend, and so far all their exchanges had been via quick email or text. He was glad that Thorin took yesterday off and he hoped, _hoped_ , that Thorin would be smart enough to take today off as well.

            As God was his witness, he never wanted to see a face like Thorin wore on Friday ever again. He still couldn’t figure out a thing about Thorin and Bilbo’s relationship but then again, as he told Ori many times, it just wasn’t their place to figure it out.

            “Good morning,” Dwalin said as he breezed past his secretary.

            “Good morning,” Carolyn called after him and then appeared at his office door. “Running a tad behind already I see.”

            Dwalin looked up and noted the amused look on his secretary’s face. _She knows exactly why I am late._ “Did you cover for me?”

            Carolyn laughed brightly. “Of course. As far as your Father knows, you were waylaid by a phone call. Your brother believes you were looking over the files for the accounts you are covering today for Mister Durin … files that, by the way, I’ve already retrieved for you.”

            “He’s out again today?” It was really more of a statement than a question. _Good, he needs to be._ Of course, that meant no weekly meeting! That was two in a row he missed—Dwalin was chuffed!

            “Oh, and one other thing,” Carolyn said, breaking through Dwalin’s good mood. “I have also had to keep Ms. Durin at bay.”

            “Ms. Durin?” What the hell could Dis want this early? “Is it about one of Thorin’s accounts?”

            Carolyn tilted her head to one side, her version of a shrug. “She did call from his office yesterday afternoon,” Carolyn said. “But I have a feeling it wasn’t about an account. She was _adamant_ about speaking with you last night. I actually had to get a bit … short with her.”

            Dwalin couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Carolyn Goddard vs. Dis Durin; now _that’s_ a match I’d buy tickets for!”

            “Laugh all you want, but she wasn’t happy _at all_.”

            “Fuck,” Dwalin huffed out a growl. Dealing with an unhappy Dis was bad enough, but dealing with an unhappy Dis first thing in the morning? Nightmare. “And she didn’t give any clue about what she wanted?”

            “No; only demanded to speak with you.”

            Dwalin thought about for a minute. Whenever Dis was on about something, it was best to get it out of the way. But he had a meeting with his father and brother concerning the Telemax/Global merger and that couldn’t be put off either.

            “Call Dis and tell her I can give her a few minutes—”

            “With all due respect,” Carolyn stated quick, “if you want my opinion—”

            “Which I do,” Dwalin threw out.

            “—don’t get her started, because I doubt she’ll stop once she gets going.”

            Dwalin nodded in agreement; as usual, Carolyn was correct.

            “Go to your meeting with your father,” Carolyn countered. “I’ll try to keep Ms. Durin busy until you’re free.” Carolyn made to return to her desk but turned back. “Oh, and might I suggest, you conveniently _forget_ your phone on your desk.”

            “Why?” Dwalin was curious but he did toss his iPhone onto his desk blotter.

            “Because,” Carolyn said. “That way, you won’t have to listen to the continuous chimes of all the angry texts she’s going send you.”

            Dwalin had to laugh but Carolyn gave him a look that said she wasn’t joking. Naturally, that only made him laugh harder.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dis was beyond pissed off. She was almost pacing outside her Uncle Fundin’s office. Fundin’s secretary seemed a bit—unnerved to have her there, but sod it, Dis didn’t care. She was going to get some answers, come Hell or high water.

            Dwalin hadn’t returned her texts all morning. And no matter _what_ Carolyn said, she didn’t believe for one second that Dwalin had forgotten his phone—by accident that was—Carolyn was too good to let Dwalin forget _anything_. Once more, Dis kicked herself for not snagging Carolyn when she had the chance seven years ago.

            Still, Dis would get to the bottom of whatever it was that happened on Friday one-way or another. Then again, she could just call Ori!

            That was not such a bad idea!

            Maybe she _should_ call Ori and be done with it; what was the harm? She could pretend to know what transpired and see what information Ori, unintentionally, shared with her.   Even if she got the information piecemeal, she could always put it together later. She was so tempted.

            But no.

            Pulling a stunt like that, behind Dwalin’s back, would only piss him off, especially after what Balin had pulled on Friday. Also, it could well taint or ruin any relationship between Ori and herself if he found out she had played him; and she had a feeling that Ori was going to be around for a very long time.

            _Damnit; back to Plan A._

            Dis had concluded that her best bet would be to simply camp outside her Uncle’s office and wait for the meeting to break up. It was almost eleven and that would mean lunch shortly thereafter; she very much doubted that Dwalin would let any meeting interrupt lunch with Ori. Oh, she could go with them!

            Dwalin would love that!

            Just then the office door opened up and she instantly had Dwalin in her crosshairs.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Well, good morning,” Dis said catching Dwalin off guard. It was obvious that he was not thrilled to walk out of his dad’s office and find her there.

            “Morning,” Dwalin said flatly.

            “I’d love to chat with you,” Dis said with an oily smile, as she hooked an arm through his and went with him towards his own office.

            Dwalin swore on his breath. “Is this about work?” He was so _done_ withwork right now.

            “It’s about Thorin,” Dis said tersely but quietly.

            Thorin; he was over that subject too. “I’m busy,” Dwalin answered.

            “Ori can wait to see you,” Dis said.

            “But I don’t _want_ to wait to see _him_.” Dwalin replied.

            “Well, you can be off to see him—” Was all Dis got out.

            “There you are!” Ori said brightly as Dwalin and Dis came around the corner to his office. “I hope you’re hungry.”

            Dwalin stood there for a minute before he realized; it’s eleven o’clock, he told Ori eleven because of Thorin’s, now non-existent, meeting.

            “I am, as a matter of fact,” Dwalin said with a smirk to Dis. “Sorry, cousin, but I’m off to lunch.” Dis gave him a narrowed, angry look that, thankfully, Dwalin doubted that Ori could see.

            “Maybe the three of us can have lunch together,” Dis suggested sweetly.

            Dwalin knew damn well Dis was being anything _but_ sweet. “Sorry, but that’s not—”

            “Of course we can!” Ori cut in, not realizing the interplay between the two before him. “I brought plenty.”

            Dwalin turned and just then noticed a large bag on the chair behind Ori.

            “I thought you might be rushed for time,” Ori continued on, “and I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got several different sandwiches and a few soups from Bombur’s.”

            Dis smiled like the cat that got the cream.

            “You got _several_?” Dwalin repeated and Ori nodded.

            “I figured that whatever you weren’t in the mood for,” Ori supplied, “you could have later this afternoon or I could take it back to my office, _or_ you and I could have for dinner tonight. So, there’s plenty for Dis to choose from.”

            Dis released Dwalin’s arm and in one quick move, grabbed the bag from Bombur’s and Ori’s left arm and began to steer the auburn-haired man into Dwalin’s office. “What a lovely idea, Ori. I’d simply _love_ to have lunch with you both.”

            Ori turned his head to Dwalin and gave him a smile that seemed to be full of surprise at Dis’ exuberance, but Dwalin was steaming; Dis had just commandeered his lover _and_ their lunch!   _Sneaky bitch._ And now, he was going to have to dance around whatever it was she wanted to talk about.

            They were settling in when Carolyn came back from accounting. Ori offered her something to eat but she declined, graciously, stating that she had other plans. That struck Dwalin as odd; Carolyn usually just had her lunch at her desk. Carolyn shot Dwalin a look that seemed to apologize for the Dis situation but Dwalin certainly didn’t blame her. Dis would have gotten to him at some point anyway.

            Going through the contents of the bag, Dwalin choose the warm roast beef on French bread; Ori took the egg salad and tomato on a roll, while Dis grabbed a cup of Shropshire Pea Soup and one of the small Caesar salads. Ori brought bottled waters, which Dis and Ori had, as well as two Cokes; Dwalin gladly took both of those.

            Dwalin thought that Dis would probably wait until Ori was gone before speaking about Thorin; God only knew what Dis wanted to talk about. But no, Dis clearly wasn’t going to let it die.

            “So, Ori,” Dis said casually, taking a bite of salad. “What’s your take about this past Friday?”

            Dwalin nearly choked on his food and Ori quickly patted him on the back. Dwalin didn’t have time to stop Ori from speaking up.

            “Did Thorin talk to you about it then?” Ori was all wide-eyed and sounded a bit excited.

            “Only bits,” Dis said with an air of disappointment. Dwalin wanted to strangle her; that tactic was Dis’ M.O.—act like she knew a little of what was going on, and then get the other person to spill. He could feel his anger rise. Ori didn’t know Dis well enough to keep quiet, and for Dis to play Ori like that, right in front of Dwalin no less—well, he and Dis would have quite a different _chat_ when this was all over with.

            “Oh, thank God!” Ori breathed out. “Bilbo has been very reluctant to tell me anything until Thorin had told Dwalin or his family.”

            “Really,” Dis said softly, but Dwalin could see the glint in her eye. “Why is that?”

            “Well,” Ori said, “Bilbo felt it wasn’t right for him to speak about the relationship behind Thorin’s back. Especially to me, since Dwalin and I are dating,” Ori said, giving a quick but fond smile to Dwalin, “and Bilbo confessed that he still loved Thorin very much and that speaking about him was still very painful.”

            Dwalin cringed at that.

            “That’s so noble,” Dis said, but Dwalin heard the edge to her voice and that confused him. _Clearly she has some other opinion_ , he thought. _What does she know that we don’t? What can she know?_

Ori, on the other hand, didn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. He just giggled at her comment. “I don’t know about noble, and I’m sure Bilbo would disagree with you on that.”

            “I wonder why they broke up,” Dis asked quietly; her gaze squarely on Ori.

            “Who knows?” Ori shrugged. “We can’t even work out when they met; can we, love?” Ori stated, now looking over at Dwalin.

            “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this,” Dwalin stated; earning him a sharp look from Dis and a confused one from Ori.

            “It’s not like we didn’t talk about it on Friday,” Ori said.

            “Exactly,” Dis said softly with a small shrug. “Now you were saying, Ori?”

            _This is heading for a disaster._ Dwalin believed he now knew how the lookout on the Titanic felt as the iceberg closed in.

            “Given what little was said from Bilbo and Thorin,” Ori added. “Dwalin and I figured they had to have met about three years ago or more.”

            “Why then?” Dis pushed.

            “Thorin called Bilbo, _‘Professor,’_ ” Ori was now in full gossip mode, “but Bilbo hasn’t taught since June, 2010. Bilbo’s lived here in London since mid-August of that year; however, Dwalin said that Thorin was in Afghanistan at that time.”

            Dwalin could see Dis chew on that for a second. “Where did Bilbo teach?”

            “Brighton University,” Ori said. “And he’d lived in Brighton since he was ten, right after his parents died, yet Dwalin said Thorin hadn’t been back to Brighton since you were all kids.”

            “Yes he was,” Dis said softly.

            Both Dwalin and Ori sat up a bit straighter. “When was this?” Dwalin asked.

            “The weekend before his last deployment,” Dis stated. “He left that Friday, near the end of his birthday party, and stayed through until Tuesday morning.” A light seemed to go off in her mind because her eyes got a tad wider in Dwalin’s opinion. “I always wondered why he didn’t come back to London on that Monday. He ended up calling on Tuesday to say good-bye rather than coming to see us.”

            “And he didn’t offer an explanation?” Ori inquired.

            “No,” Dis said, obviously turning things over. “And now that I think on it, he was very happy; almost giddy, but at the time I just wrote it off as lack of sleep or the excitement at his final assignment.”

            “You know,” Ori said, “Now that you say that, when I think back on it, Bilbo didn’t call me that weekend either.”

            “Was that unusual?” Dwalin asked.

            “At that time, yes,” Ori conceded. “He was calling me almost every day because he was going up to London on week days, looking at flats, and returning to Brighton weekends. He would call me to review flats and try to talk me into moving to London.”

            “I thought you already lived in London?” Dwalin was a little surprised.

            “No,” Ori countered. “I didn’t move to London until two years ago. Back in 2010, I was working in Edinburgh; I had no desire to return south. That last weekend in July, I never heard from Bilbo … for days. At the time I thought it odd but figured he had stayed in London or something. But now that Dis brings up Thorin’s actions—”

            “So,” Dis was seemingly quite pleased. “We’ve established they met at the end of July, 2010, and we know that Thorin went off to war while Bilbo moved to London. The big question remains as to when they ended their relationship and as to why.” Dis had a funny look on her face with that last sentence but Dwalin couldn’t put a word to it; she was too closed off to read anything.

            “Bilbo did mention that he was passed over,” Ori threw out firmly and Dwalin winced again; no putting that genie back in the bottle.

            “I don’t know where he would get that idea,” Dis said, her voice sounding a bit hard to Dwalin. “Thorin hasn’t had any relationship, except Bilbo.”

            “But you didn’t know about Bilbo, did you?” Ori asked. When Dis didn’t answer, Ori took it to the next, obvious step. “I mean, if you didn’t know about Bilbo, can anyone really state for certain that Thorin didn’t have any other relationship?”

            That brought both cousins to a standstill. Dwalin exchanged a quick look with Dis and realized that, no, they couldn’t swear to that. Thorin had been more than just secretive since his injuries, discharge and return to civilian life.

            “What about Bilbo,” Dis stated, countering Ori’s argument. “Do you know for sure about Bilbo being _passed over_? How do you know he wasn’t the one to cut ties with Thorin?”

            Ori shrugged, Dwalin was impressed that Ori didn’t rise to Dis’ baiting. “I don’t, but I have lived with Bilbo for the last two years, so while I didn’t know about Thorin, I can tell you that Bilbo hasn’t dated a single person in the last two years. And I would like to add that Bilbo has gone through hell, so when he says that it’s still very hard for him to talk about Thorin, or that he still loves him very much, I believe him.”

            Dis seemed to bristle at that, at least in Dwalin’s eyes. He was really becoming unhappy with this subtle, underhanded interrogation of Ori. Dis had to know, because she drew a quiet, deep breath before continuing. “You realize that Thorin has also gone through hell. We almost lost him, he almost died.”

            While Ori seemed lost in his own thoughts, he nodded to show he heard and then added, “So did Bilbo.”

            “What do you mean?” Dis asked.

            “It’s not for me to share,” Ori replied with a dark look in his eyes. “But he couldn’t have gone lower.”

            “You think because of Thorin?” Dis suggested with a slight tone of disbelief that Dwalin easily picked up.

            “Looking back on it, it’s possible,” Ori answered. “Of course, at the time, I thought it was still over Nori.” Ori was again lost in his own thoughts.

            _Bleeding Christ!_ Dwalin had to use everything in his power to remain calm; he knew where this was heading and it wasn’t anywhere that Ori needed to go. Sadly, Dis didn’t know that.

            “Who’s Nori?” Dis asked quickly.

            “One of my brothers,” Ori said quietly but didn’t met Dis’ gaze.

            “Oh, did Bilbo date your brother?” Dis inquired, another glint shining her in eyes.

            Ori nodded, and Dwalin knew the dark thoughts circling Ori’s mind.

            “I think we’re getting off topic,” Dwalin stated loudly, attempting to steer the discussion away from Nori.

            “We’re only chatting,” Dis said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And frankly, I’d love to chat with Nori about all this.”

            Dwalin swore to himself; it was too late; Dis had gone where she shouldn’t have.

            “Not possible,” Ori said softly.

            “You don’t think he’d share Bilbo’s secrets?” Dis asked with a little laugh.

            Ori turned away and Dis looked to Dwalin for explanation but he gave her a thunderous expression and he hoped to God Dis realized she had pushed too far. She must have.

            “I’m sorry,” Dis stated. “I didn’t know that Nori was a sore subject.”

            “He died,” Ori added, “in the July bombings.” Ori moved to sit on the arm of Dwalin’s chair. Dwalin didn’t need to be asked or told; he slipped an arm around Ori’s waist and drew him closer for comfort.

            Dis had the decency to look contrite, but Dwalin had no sympathy at this point. Whatever her game was, Dwalin felt that she had overstepped and Dis clearly felt guilty about it. _Good,_ he thought.

            “Ori,” Dis said quietly, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean—”

            “It’s okay, really,” Ori said quickly with a small smile. “You didn’t know and honestly, Dwalin has been wonderful in helping me come to better terms with it.”

            “I’m glad to hear that,” Dis said softly and Dwalin had a sure feeling that the interrogation was over with, which was confirmed a moment later. “Well, I thank you for lunch, Ori.”

            “It was my pleasure,” Ori answered.

            “Next time, though,” Dis said, getting up and throwing her trash in the bin, “lunch will be on me.”

            “You don’t have to do that,” Dwalin and Ori both stated at once, making Dis laugh.

            “Oh my God, you two couldn’t be any cuter together,” Dis confessed with a laugh. “And I insist; lunch is on me next time, maybe this coming Thursday or Friday.”

            “Okay, fine,” Dwalin conceded with a huff and now it was Ori’s turn to laugh.

            “Enjoy the rest of your lunch,” Dis gave them a wink. “I’ll talk to you later,” Dis said, giving Dwalin a pointed look, and then turned to Ori. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

            “Tomorrow night?” Ori asked confused, while Dwalin groaned.

            “Yes,” Dis said quietly with a smirk. “Family gathering tomorrow at _Chez Durin_ ; Thorin’s birthday.”

            Ori paled a bit, Dwalin hung his head and Dis snickered to herself.

            Dis breezed out, and while Ori relaxed a bit, Dwalin could tell that all the chatting and probing—because that was what Dis had been doing—had taken its toll on Ori’s peace of mind.

            And _that_ , in turn, took its toll on Dwalin’s anger; it made it boil.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            The math had failed her. Dis had been so convinced that if she could more information from Dwalin and/or Ori, she could figure things out. But as it stood, she had found out very little. Dwalin and she, plus Ori had come up with a big fat zero.

            Well, maybe not zero. The conversation had been enlightening.

            Dis wasn’t quite as sure as she was before. Yes, the letter still rubbed her the wrong way and she would still say that there are better ways to handle a situation like that. But knowing that this—Bilbo person, had lost a love prior to Thorin, lost them in a horrific, violent way no less, changed the perceptive a tad. Maybe it wasn’t just about the injuries that Thorin had received and continued to live with, maybe it was about the memories of what those injuries brought forth. Not a great excuse, but it was still a logical explanation.

            However, Dis remained curious. Just who was Bilbo? She thought about what she knew. He was professor, or had been, at Brighton University. She went to Brighton’s website, but there was nothing. Of course, he doesn’t teach there anymore, so they wouldn’t have a page about him. She didn't have a great deal of faith that just the name 'Bilbo' would come up with many results, but she tried.  Of course, nothing came up.

            Nothing. Nothing at all. 

            After searching for a few more ways, and still not getting anywhere, she realized that maybe she was looking for the wrong person to begin with. First she tried ‘Thorin’ along with ‘Bilbo’ just to see.

            Nothing.

            Next she tried ‘Nori’ along with ‘Bilbo.’

            Still nothing.

            Then she remembered Balin’s background checks, and how Ori was actually Orlando. She was on the phone and dialing Balin’s extension before she even thought about it.

            “Balin Fundinson,” Balin when he answered.

            “Balin, it’s Dis.”

            “Well, hello. What can I do for you, my dear?”

            “You looked up Ori’s family last week, right?”

            There was a long pause on the other end. “Yes,” Balin said, a little tersely.

            “What’s Ori’s brother’s name?”

            “Theodore.”

            _How the hell do you get ‘Nori’ from that?_ “Theodore? Truly?”

            “Yes. He owns and operates a bed and breakfast in Brighton.”

            Dis hung her head; she now remembered Ori saying _‘One of my brothers.’_ “Sorry, I mean the other one. The one that passed.”

            “Norville.”

            _Ah-ha!_ “Thank you.”

            “Why do you ask?” Balin sounded a bit suspicious.

            “Oh, just curious,” Dis said lightly. “Dwalin, Ori and I had lunch and they mentioned him and I just couldn’t remember his name.”

            “I see,” Balin seemed to buy it but Dis knew enough to get off the line.

            “Anyway, thank you, Balin.”

            “Of course, my dear.”

            As they both hung up the phone, Dis returned to Google and typed in ‘Norville Ryson’ feeling that adding the family name would help.

            Bingo.

            Dis felt a little sick as article after article came up concerning the July Bombings and the dead. Nori was mentioned in a few but only as one of the victims, nothing more than that. Dis decided that she would narrow the search and added ‘obituary’ to the original search of Nori’s name. A small blurb came up with a photo of what looked like a scanned copy of the obituary in Brighton’s newspaper, _The Argus_. It spoke of his passing in the bombings, about his years in the merchant marines and his working for the government, and then, at the bottom, Dis struck gold; _‘Survived by his two brothers, Professor Theodore Ryson,_ _Brighton_ _, and_ _Orlando_ _Ryson, Edinburgh, and by his partner, Professor William-Robert Baggins,_ _Brighton_ _.’_

 _Baggins._ William-Robert Baggins. No wonder she couldn’t find it under ‘Bilbo.’  This time she typed in his full name, along with ‘Professor’ and ‘Brighton’ and hit the enter button.

            Just as the results came up, her phone rang. Dis picked it up absentmindedly, not knowing what she was in for.

            “Dis Durin,” she said smoothly.

            “What the _fucking_ hell, was that shit in my office!” Dwalin demanded from the other end.

            Dis had the sense not to feint ignorance. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t planned, it just presented itself.”

            “You used Ori, you know,” Dwalin snarled. “And you upset him!”

            Dis was more than aware of what she had done. “That was _never_ my intention.”

            “I don’t give a shit what your intentions were, you did it anyway!”

            “I’m sorry, truly,” Dis said sincerely. “I just wanted information regarding Bilbo, and—”

            “You could’ve just asked!”

            “Dwalin, if you’d let me—”

            “I don’t care about your reasons—”

            “—listen, I found this letter that Bilbo—”

            “—there is no excuse for playing Ori—”

            “—I just wanted to know—”

            “—I won’t sit back again and watch you bully him—”

            “—Look, I’m worried about Thorin and—”

            “I don’t give a good God-damn about Thorin or Bilbo right now!”

            “Well, I do!”

            “So … what? You’re going use the excuse of _caring_ to justify acting like Uncle Thrain, is that it?!”

            Dis could almost feel her stomach drop lower in her gut. She hated being compared to others, but especially to her father. Dis gladly admitted that she could be a hard-arsed bitch now and then, but that was required to get jobs done from time to time. And if she had to push, she’d do it. Of course, she toned it down when at home. She didn’t want her boys to grow up in the same kind of environment as her brothers had. Sadly, there were already signs that Fili was picking up a little too much of Thrain’s habits and ideas.

            She and Vili were growing steadily concerned with Fili’s continued slide into ‘Thrain Behavior’; it was disconcerting. But her? Suddenly she had to wonder, was Fili picking up on _her_ behavior and not her fathers? Was _she_ setting the poor example and bad influence? She remembered Fili’s unnerving exuberance last week when he asked if she had fired anyone.

            She cared; that’s all. She did what she did because she honestly cared. She only wanted what was best and right for those she loved; she would do anything for them!

            Then again, as Dwalin had pointed out, _‘caring’_ and wanting was best for _‘the family’_ was always Thrain’s justification for his behavior as well.

            “Listen very carefully to me,” Dwalin said, his voice cold and hard. “You want to play games with the rest of the family or me, that’s fine. I don’t give a damn. But if you ever pull that crap with Ori again, I swear I will make Grandpa Farin’s feud with Nain look like a toddler’s temper tantrum!”

            The line disconnected immediately and Dis was left in silence to stew with her misgivings. She’d have to apologize to Ori; that was clear. She had known that before she ever left Dwalin’s office to be honest. She’d also have to reconsider exactly what she was doing looking at all this ‘evidence.’ She painfully recalled that she had specifically told Thorin she wouldn’t push him. And she tried to rationalize that she was pushing others, not him, so it was okay.

            It wasn’t okay.

            She decided to just give it up; let Thorin and this ‘Bilbo’ Baggins work out their differences on their own. She’d do what she could for Thorin when he needed it, but she wouldn’t go _looking_ for trouble.

            She turned back to her computer and closed Firefox. But it was in the split second as the box began to fade away that her eye caught something at the bottom of the search results. Her heart skipped a beat and she quickly brought the web browser back up and retyped her last search.

            There, at the very bottom of the first page of results as a listing for _‘Good-bye, ‘Mad’ Baggins.’_ Clicking on it, she found out that it was a tribute page, clearly made some time ago by a student. The top part of the page gave Professor Baggins’—never once was Bilbo’s first name used, either his full one or his shortened one—history at the school. It talked of his attending university at Brighton, his internship and then his tenure as professor of Creative Writing and Nineteenth Century Literature. It was clear that this student admired Bilbo and stated that most felt the same way. Also, they called him ‘Mad’ because, as the page detailed, Professor Baggins was ‘crazy brilliant, crazy funny and just crazy period!’

            The webpage also had photos showing Bilbo through his years at Brighton and Dis had to smile to herself; Bilbo Baggins was handsome. _I can totally see why Thorin was taken with this man._ Thorin always did have an affinity for men who were rather adorable. Most of the photos were, obviously, by students using a phone camera. Some were funny, capturing Bilbo in the middle of lecture making a funny gesture, a few where taken on the grounds of the university. There was one of a surprise birthday party, that students had thrown for him and there was even one where he was dressed as a wizard for Halloween.

            All along the page there were blurbs talking about this event or that lecture or whatever discussion, but as she got near the end, there was a video entitled, ‘Mad Baggins’ Last Lecture.’ Dis couldn’t help but watch it. Like most of the photos, the video was shot using a phone and she watched as Professor Baggins came out and made some jokes about not being the other teacher and if the students were going to sleep, please just go ahead and lay on the floor so that they wouldn’t interrupt everyone else when they fell out of their chairs. Dis laughed; it was corny but there was something about his man with the gentle, melodious voice that instantly endeared him to her. She was going to click off the video but she quickly found that she liked the lecture and before she knew it, she had watched the whole hour-long presentation and enjoyed it!

            It seemed that the page was done. She had basically looked over the highlights of Bilbo’s career at Brighton and was about to close the page, when she scrolled down to the end and froze.

            There were pictures taken right after the last lecture. Students were standing around talking to Bilbo, a couple of pictures of students hugging him good-bye, but it was the very last one that made her come to a full stop. There, right next to Bilbo was Thorin. A female student in the photo was talking and making everyone laugh, even Thorin, his laughter caught on digital ‘film.’ But it was Bilbo who really moved her. The photographer had captured a moment when Thorin, laughing and unaware, was being gazed upon by the good Professor, who wore a look of such adoration and affection that Dis almost blushed herself. It was beautiful to behold.

            Dis wondered, how could something so lovely, came to the end that it did? If Thorin was aware of Bilbo’s love for him, a love that was evident on Bilbo’s face, it was no surprise that Thorin was broken over it. But then, if Bilbo was so in love, maybe the damage caused by Nori’s death and the death of his parents, was too much when coupled with Thorin’s injuries?

            Dis suddenly felt pain over it all—for both Thorin and Bilbo. That was unexpected. What had happened, truly to make Bilbo write such a letter?

            _Wait a minute._

            She had just watched Bilbo give an enthralling and eloquent lecture, and she reminded herself that Bilbo Baggins was a professor of creative writing—not to mention literature. So how could he, of all people, produce a letter like that? It didn’t make sense. It was inconceivable to the point of being ridiculous.

            Something was wrong. Very wrong.

            Dis could almost smell a rat.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes .... there will be a fuller explanation regarding Bilbo's "real name"


	16. WEDNESDAY - At Last, Part 1

* * *

 

 

            Ori turned the handle of the front door as quietly as possible; _thank God the hinges don’t squeak_ , he thought. He bent down and picked up his shoes, stepped inside and then gently closed the door, keeping the handle turned so that lock wouldn’t click and then slid the bolt in place as silently as possible.

            Ori released the breath he was holding. _A successful break-in!_ Well, not really a break-in; he had a key and he _did_ live here. But the universe got the idea. Easy breezy.

            That’s when he turned around and saw Bilbo standing there with his arms folded across his chest and blank look on his face.

            _Well, shit._ “Hello,” Ori said casually as if he wasn’t standing there wearing clothes from yesterday or his shoes in his hand or rumpled hair.

            Bilbo clearly was fighting with his smirk, which threatened to turn into a laugh. “Good morning,” Bilbo answered. “Do I know you? You seem familiar.”

            Ori huffed and rolled his eyes, as Bilbo’s smirk widened. “I’ve only been gone—”

            “Since Friday,” Bilbo supplied.

            "You saw me on Monday?!" Ori said, knowing it was lame.

            "For five minutes _in your office_ ," Bilbo clarified.  "You haven't been home, properly, for five days."

            “I came to get clothes!”

            “At times when I wasn’t here. And I’m sure you weren’t in this flat for more than the few minutes it took to grab clothes and run back to Dwalin's car.”

            “Well …” Ori thought quickly for a comeback. “I wanted to give you time alone.”

            “Oh, you succeeded there,” Bilbo said dryly, still amused.

            “I just … uhm,” Ori tried to speak but Bilbo finally just let loose with the laugh. 

            “Rushed over here this morning on the tube looking like you just crawled out of bed?” Bilbo offered.

            Ori didn’t say anything because it was true.

            Bilbo smiled and shook his head as he headed into the kitchen. “You’ve only known him for nine days, and—”

            “Ten days!” Ori countered, following Bilbo.

            “Last Monday doesn’t count,” Bilbo remarked.

            “Does too!” Ori said empathically. “That’s when he saved me.”

            “S _aved_ you?!” Bilbo just laughed again. “He offered you his hand when you ended up in a wet heap on the floor in the lobby of Durin and Sons!”

            Ori pouted. “I count that!”

            Bilbo chuckled. “He didn’t even give you his name; you scooted out of there after Thorin _barked_ at you.”

            Again, Ori couldn’t argue that point. “I got his business card from Dis.”

            Bilbo shot him annoyingly sarcastic look. “Oh right, his _business card_ … practically a declaration of his ardor and desire.”

            “Oh, sod off,” Ori said but he was laughing now as well. “Fine, _nine days_ then.”

            “Nine days,” Bilbo reiterated as he turned on the kettle. “And already you’re staying over at his place almost all the time. Has he showed you the view from his eighth-floor office yet?”

            Ori made to laugh but paused. “Wait a minute."  Ori knew for a fact that all the executive offices at Durin and Sons were on the eighth floor, but that didn't explain -- "How do _you know_ his office is on the eighth floor?”

            Bilbo stilled but didn’t turn around or answer Ori.

            “When were you at Durin and Sons?!”

            “It’s … uhm,” Bilbo stuttered as he slowly resumed making tea but he still didn’t turn to face Ori. “It’s been a bit.”

            “Alright,” Ori demanded, done with the nonsense. “You’re going to tell me the story and you’re going to tell me _now_.” Ori marched over to the table, pulled out a chair noisily, sat down, and crossed his arms over his chest.

            “Ori,” Bilbo turned around and at least had the decency to look apologetic. “I still don’t think—”

            Ori held up a hand to stop his best friend, and gave Bilbo a pointed glare. “No! Don’t even start hedging me off. Talk. Now.”

            Bilbo stood there, holding Ori’s gaze for a few long seconds, before huffing out a sigh and sitting down across from Ori.

            “It all started three years ago,” Bilbo said, before adding with a hollow laugh. “Almost to the day.”

            “The weekend before Thorin’s final deployment,” Ori added quietly.

            “How do you _know_ that?!” Bilbo asked incredulously.

            “Because between you and Thorin, there have been enough clues for Dwalin, Dis and I to work out when you met.”

            “Bloody Christ,” Bilbo said with a shake of his head. “That’s almost scary; Sherlock Holmes has nothing on you three. I wonder if this is what John has to put with all the time.”

            “ _John_?” Ori scrunched up his nose, perplexed. “You mean John _Watson_ , Holmes’ sidekick?” When Bilbo nodded, Ori has to ask, “Do you _know_ John Watson?”

            “I’m related to him,” Bilbo threw out casually.

            “Fucking no way!” Ori was amazed. “You’ve never said!”

            “It wasn’t important before he started his blog,” Bilbo added. “And since then, it’s never come up. Besides, we’re _distantly_ related.”

            “Holy shit,” Ori now had way more questions to ask, but was stopped by Bilbo.

            “Look, it’s a really long story,” Bilbo said. “So, why don’t we save it for some … snowy night in front of the fire?”

            “That’s fine by me,” Ori said with a shrug. “So … you and Thorin?”

            Bilbo took a breath before starting. “I had come up to London to view flats. There was one I really liked … this one as a matter-of-fact … but I wasn’t sure because the management company guy at the time was being really weird about meeting; he only wanted to meet in the evenings.” Bilbo took a breath and smiled as he thought back. “Naturally, because he wanted to meet so late, I saved the showing as the last one on Friday and had planned to just rush back to the hotel, get my suitcase I wanted them to hold on to while I went to look, and then grab the train home.

            “Well, he was late getting here and then went on about this, that, and the other thing. As much as I loved the flat, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to do business with him. Eventually, I just had to cut him off and leave. However, when I got back to my hotel, they had misplaced my luggage. It took them ages to find it and when I was finally on my way to the station it was almost nine pm!

            “By the time I boarded, the only places to sit were two chairs facing another pair and who was sitting there—”

            “Thorin,” Ori interjected and Bilbo nodded.

            “He was leaning against the window, arms crossed, hat pulled down over his face, obviously trying to sleep. I didn’t want to bother him but I had to ask him if the seats were available, and in that moment … my life changed forever.”

            Ori sat sit and listened to the tale of Bilbo and Thorin. He felt his heart flutter as Bilbo told of their exchange on the train. He was happy for them both as the story went on through the long weekend. Strangely, nothing seemed outrageous or strange; love at first sight. Ori had lived it himself. There were so many little parallels between himself and Dwalin that Bilbo and Thorin’s story seemed natural and fated … both words used by Bilbo himself at times throughout the telling.

            But Ori’s heart hurt to hear Bilbo talk about being plagued, once again, by the voices of Otho and Lobelia and how he had started doubting his own worth for Thorin. Ori felt the flash of anger that he had always had went they were younger and he was the only one that believed Bilbo’s stories of Lobelia’s abuse and condescension.

            When it was over, Ori felt a strange, empty feeling inside of him and it turned out that it wasn’t so strange.

            “I felt hollow,” Bilbo said quietly. “Like part of me had been carved out and I stood there for ages until Thorin’s train was completely out of sight.”

            “What did you do then?” Ori asked.

            Bilbo shrugged. “I drove down by the beach for a bit, went for a walk in Stanmer Park.”

            “Where the two of you spent your Saturday.”

            “Yes.”

            “So what happened?” Ori couldn’t understand. “How could it go so wrong?”

            Bilbo drew a breath and Ori could see genuine weariness in Bilbo’s eyes. “That’s the part that is very difficult.”

            “I’m sure,” Ori said, “but I want to know; I want to help.”

            Bilbo reached out and took one of Ori’s hands. “I know you do. But this is something no one can help with.”

            “That’s not true. Even just sharing can lighten the burden.”

            “It’s not about lightening it either,” Bilbo said. “Look, you know how we started, but sadly, the end is something that Thorin and I need to do, alone.”

            “And how are you going to do that?!” Ori asked. “You could barely look at him on Friday and he stood there glaring daggers!”

            “I know,” Bilbo said softly. “But Andy has already offered to play mediator for us and he seems to feel that he can get Thorin to agree to meet.”

            “Really?” Ori sounded more than a little doubtful. “Does he know him or something?”

            “He just said to leave it to him,” Bilbo repeated Gandalf’s words. “But I did get the feeling he was playing it off; he didn’t actually say yes or no.”

            “Maybe he knows Thorin’s shrink,” Ori stated as he got up and went to make himself some tea.

            Bilbo, however, just sat there a little stunned. “Thorin’s seeing a doctor?”

            “From what Dwalin told me,” Ori said offhandedly.

            Bilbo thought on that before turning to Ori. “Why would he need to see a psychiatrist?”

            “Dwalin said it was a recent thing,” Ori added with a shrug. “But that it had been a long time coming.” Ori suddenly lit up. “Hey! You don’t suppose that he still has feelings for you and is starting to have to deal with the emotional turmoil or something, do you?”

            Bilbo tried not to roll his eyes but did wear a rather long-suffering look on his face. “We aren’t living a romance novel.”

            “I don’t know,” Ori said with a little smile. “Sounds a lot like a plot from one of Jane Austen’s novels. What was the one with the sea captain and the plain girl?”

“ _‘Persuasion.’_ , and she wasn’t plain,” Bilbo said, clearly offended on Anne Eliot’s part. “She was sensible and had a broken heart!”

            Ori hummed in response. “Well, sounds like it me.”

            “I am not the heartbroken, suffering Anne and Thorin is far from the brooding, bitter Frederick!”

            “Didn’t they have a great love?”

            “Yes, but—”

            “And didn’t he go off to war?”

            “True, however—”

            “And weren’t they estranged but still in love?”

            Bilbo huffed out a sigh. “Yes.”

            “Sounds like you’re living it to me.”

            “Even if you hadn’t missed several key plot points,” Bilbo tightly, “You’d still be wrong.”

            Ori couldn’t keep from smirking at Bilbo’s fussy indignation and thought he would push another button. “Maybe we should just get Thorin to dive into a lake and come out with a wet shirt.”

            Bilbo almost spit in disgust, which had been Ori’s goal. “That was _‘Pride and Prejudice’_! And _don’t_ get me started. That scene wasn’t even in the book!”

            “Whatever,” Ori said now totally chuffed to see Bilbo ruffled. “Even in that one, you had two idiots that danced circles around each other until they finally saw the truth.”

            “Okay, we’re done here,” Bilbo said a wave of his hand causing Ori to laugh. “I’m going to take a shower and leave you here alone with your Jane Austen delusions.”

            Ori went off to shower and get ready for work. He made a mental note to chat with Dwalin and Dis later that night at the Durin’s.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo------

 

            Bilbo ended up just sitting in the bathroom for ages.

            He had turned the shower on but it ended up being background noise really. As the water continued to rhythmically run, Bilbo got lost in his thoughts. _I did what was right, didn’t I? I tried to be the bigger person; tried to be mature. Maybe it was me that pushed too hard, maybe I pushed him away. I never hated Thorin; I never wanted him to be anything but happy. Of course, as Andy pointed out, I never did seek him out and speak to him. But, there was good reason for that._

_Well, a reason._

            Bilbo couldn’t really pretend anymore. He knew in his heart why he had truly walked away; he couldn’t have stood there and listened to Thorin tell him that he didn’t love him anymore, that he loved another. He hadn’t wanted to know why he had been deemed unworthy and lied to, or why someone else was better. He didn’t believe, then or now, that he would be strong enough to hear such things from Thorin. He would rather have died.

            In fact, he almost had even without hearing it.

            But Bilbo had to agree with Andy; Thorin and he needed to talk. If he really wanted to move forward, Bilbo had to hear the reasons for Thorin’s decisions, hear the things he didn’t want to hear, and express those feelings that still festered inside him. And yes, he would have to say the one thing he _still, to this day,_ didn’t want to say aloud; Good-bye.

            Bilbo had to resign himself to that end. He would face this situation head on; he would survive it.

            He hoped he would, anyway.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Thorin looked over the papers on his desk halfheartedly. He’d been out for two days and while he should have been tearing about, cleaning up messes, getting back to clients, setting up meetings and phone calls, he found that one, Dis and Dwalin had managed perfectly fine without him and two, he didn’t care.

            It wasn’t that he couldn’t get work done or he couldn’t work his accounts, it was just that, since Monday, his work filled him with apathy. He had so much more on his mind than this and, frankly, he was no longer deluding himself; it wasn’t life he was fighting against so it wouldn’t distracted from his work, it was work that he was desperate using to distract him from his life.

            A life he needed to get back to.

            Naturally, when he thought of life, he thought of Bilbo. Try as he might, regardless of what he used—work, hate, liquor, medication—he could no longer deny that without Bilbo, his life was empty. Dis’ words from last week echoed in his mind. _“Do you really believe you’re the only one that gives a damn about this company?! Or is it that you’re the only one here who has nothing_ _else_ _to care for in his life? … We have lives, children, friends, lovers … we have things that occasionally take precedence over your damn weekly meeting where we do nothing but rehash old news!”_

She had seen through him whether she had known it or not. He didn’t have anything else to care for in his life. Actually, he did have something; he had some _one_ that he cared for desperately, he just didn’t _have them_.

            A knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts.

            “Come,” Thorin called out.

            The door opened and he saw someone he had just thought of. “Am I disturbing you?” Dis asked.

            Thorin shook his head and motioned to one of the client chairs in front of his desk.

            “How are you?” Dis asked as she sat down.

            “Better,” Thorin answered. He wasn’t going to pretend to himself that ‘fine’ would have placated his sister. “Thank you for taking me in this weekend.”

            “Of course,” Dis said, almost sadly. “You know you’re welcome anytime you need us. And Kili already misses having his Uncle Thorin there anytime he wants him.”

            Thorin chuckled at that.

            “In fact,” Dis added. “We all missed you Monday night.”

            Thorin nodded. “I’m sorry to have just left a note.” When he had finally left Grey’s office on Monday, he’d wanted to be alone; he’d had much to think about. So, he had asked the limo driver to wait, gathered his few possessions at Dis’, left a note for them and went home. “I just needed time to myself.”

            “How was your session?” Dis inquired.

            “It was …” Thorin really had to think on that. What was the right word for what he had gone through? “Horrific.”

            “ _Horrific?_ ” Dis was surprised.

            “Grey basically pushed me into a flashback/anxiety episode.”

            “On _purpose_?!”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s just … that’s …”

            “What?”

            “Uncalled for! Unethical! Immoral! Take your pick!”

            “And it was needed.” Thorin sat back.

            “How can you say that?”

            “Because as difficult and unnerving as it was to go through, Grey metaphorically held up a mirror in front of me … and what I saw, wasn’t pretty.”

            “That doesn’t justify—”

            “Maybe it doesn’t. But I needed it.”

            Dis didn’t say anything else; she sat there.

            “I’ve been lying to myself, Dis,” Thorin continued. “And those lies have caused me to take the hurt and pain and fear that I’ve held on to, and turn them on everyone around me.”

            “Does this hurt and pain you speak of have anything to do with Bilbo Baggins?”

            Thorin’s eyes widened. “How the hell do you know—”

            “I read the letter,” Dis said quietly, looking as guilty. Thorin puffed up, ready to explode but Dis held up a hand and added quickly, “I haven’t told anyone else about it.”

            “That isn’t the point!” Thorin said, trying to breathe through and control his anger. “You shouldn’t have read that letter!”

            “I know. I’m sorry,” Dis said calmly. “I came in here on Monday and the drawer was open and the compartment was unlocked …”

            “So you took the opportunity to snoop?!”

            “At the time, I’d no idea what it was. But after your … after Friday’s episode, I saw the open compartment and thought that whatever was in there may have been related ...”

            There was nothing for it now. Thorin huffed out a sigh and rested his elbows on his desk, cradling his head in his hands. “I wish you hadn’t read that letter.” He didn’t need to be told that Dis was concerned for him, but sometimes, she just pushed too hard.

            Dis leaned forward and reached out to place her hands on Thorin’s arms. “I know I shouldn’t have, but like I said, I didn’t tell anyone else.”

            “That’s not as comforting as you may think,” Thorin groused.

            “Probably not,” Dis agreed. “I did get to see Bilbo in action, though.”

            Thorin looked up, confused, and caught Dis’ small smile.

            “Not to mention a lovely photo of the two of you together.”

            Thorin felt a little dizzy. “There aren’t photos of us.”

            Dis nodded. “Yes, there is.”     Dis came around the desk and pulled Thorin’s keyboard to her. She brought up Firefox and searched for the webpage, clicked on it and then straightened up, turned the monitor towards Thorin and stepped back out of his way.

            Thorin scrolled down, slowly looking over the photos of Bilbo through the years. His heart ached to see Bilbo so close, looking so beautiful in his eyes. As he neared the bottom, he saw the video of the lecture he had attended and he almost clicked on it, but thought better of it.

            “Go on down to the end,” Dis said softly behind him.

            Thorin did as he was told and there was the photo that Dis had mentioned. Thorin recalled the young girl telling a story about Bilbo from the first class she has attended. Thorin couldn’t remember the story itself, but he remembered that it was funny and charming and he couldn’t help but laugh.

            Oh but look at Bilbo standing there, wearing that look on his face, the look that Thorin cherished so much. So filled with hope and promise; of love. It was the look that held the whole world in it for Thorin. It was a look that was vastly different than the pained one that Bilbo had given Thorin at Friday’s lunch.

            “Thorin, I want to talk to you about—”

            But Thorin waved Dis off to be quiet as he scrolled back up the page and looked again at the video there. He wanted so badly to play it; to hear Bilbo’s voice. But he wasn’t sure. He was afraid. How badly would it hurt to listen? How bad would it be to watch Bilbo move about, animated before him and then not have to real thing when it was over? How badly would this affect him?

            “Thorin—” Did Dis know what he was thinking? Thorin didn’t care and frankly, his hand was already moving the mouse and before he could think further, he clicked the video. He didn’t care that the sound was wonky and a little tinny; it was his Bilbo, right there before him on the screen. And he could only sit there as Bilbo’s voice washed over him.

            _“Good afternoon, everyone! No, you have not gone insane. I can assure you that Dr Tauriel has indeed not had a sex change operation to look like a short, curly haired man.”_            

            The laughter erupted from the video classroom, but Thorin had none to give. Oh God, he shouldn’t have done this, he shouldn’t have played the damn thing, but it was too late now, because now, he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

            “Thorin, don’t do this to—”

            “Leave.”

            “Thorin, just—”

            “I said, LEAVE!”

            Thorin didn’t even register his sister leaving, but a tiny part of him hoped that she didn’t see his shoulders shake as he tried to control himself. Of course, the video simply played on.

            _“As many of you know, I am leaving_ _Brighton_ _, so this is my last lecture. Think of this as my good-bye to you all.”_

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bilbo arrived on time for Bard’s appointment, but naturally, Bard wasn’t ready. That was fine. Bilbo declined Maria’s offer of something to drink, and took the opportunity to simply breath and relax. He wasn’t sure what the meeting was about but it couldn’t be terrible. Could it? Bard had never called him out for one of his stories. Sure, maybe he asked him to cut it back a bit to fit a certain length or perhaps beef it up if they were looking for a bit more … _intimacy_ between the characters; as Bard would say, ‘Flesh sells.’

            Finally, about twenty minutes after arriving, Bard’s office door opened and Bilbo was ushered in.

            “Have a seat, Baggins,” Bard said, wave at one of the comfortable chairs in front of his desk.

            Bilbo sat down and put his bag on the floor next to his chair.

            “Drink?” Bard offered, as he poured himself one.

            “No, thank you,” Bilbo replied.

            Bard shrugged as he finished and then sat down with his whiskey.

            “So, what’s this all about?” Bilbo didn’t want to make a lot of small talk.

            Bard seemed to think it over and that really made Bilbo wonder. If there was one thing to be said about Bard, the man was never at a loss for words and Bilbo would swear that the editor probably had a running dialog in his head constantly. “As you may know, Baggins, House Proud is owned by IPC Media.”

            Bilbo nodded.

            “And home and garden magazines have risen in sales in both The States and Canada.”

            Again, Bilbo nodded. Thanks to the popularity of HGTV in North America, home magazines were enjoying a surge in sales and in the gay community in particular. But then House Proud offered more than just home decorating and garden tips.

            “Because of this increased market share,” Bard continued, “IPC has expanded into the overseas market and are starting a North American version of House Proud.”

            “Really?” Bilbo wasn’t surprised. He had actually thought it strange that they weren’t there already.

            “That’s what my meeting was about on Monday,” Bard said, taking a sip of his whiskey. “We’ve moved up the debut date and plan on putting out the debut issue by the end of the year.”

            Bilbo nodded, but that still hadn’t answered his question. “That’s … great, but with all due respect, what does it have to do with me?”

            Bard took a sip of his drink and Bilbo could swear that for a moment, a dark look crossed over the man’s face. “Two things actually; one concerns your latest short,” Bard down the remaining liquor. “The other, concerns your continued employment.”

            “What?” Bilbo was stunned. _‘Your continued employment.’_ Was he being threatened with his job? Was he being fired?!

            “The boys on the board,” Bard said, “really liked your latest short. Actually, they more than liked it, they loved it. They want you to continue it.”

            “Continue it?” Bilbo was confused. What did that mean? And why continue it if his job was on the line?

            “They want a serial,” Bard clarified.

            Bilbo could only gape. It was well known that one of the greatest Gay-themed story series, _Tales of The City_ , had started as a serialization in a newspaper, The San Francisco Chronicle. The first four novels in the series were serialized, until they were finally published in book form. Then the next five, _five_ Bilbo reminded himself, were direct to book releases. Nine books in all, with the latest book being scheduled for publication in 2014.

            Bilbo was silent. Had he heard all this right?

            “Bilbo?”

            Bilbo shook his head to clear it. “Yeah.”

            “Something wrong?"

            “Yes. I mean, no … I mean, are you … are you serious?”

            “Of course,” Bard said. Bilbo almost rolled his eyes; leave it to Bard to totally miss what that meant to a writer.

            “I don’t believe it.” Bilbo was actually thrilled, he was just stunned.

            “Look,” Bard pushed on, “we believe a serial story arc, told over several months would be just what out readers want.”

            Bilbo wasn’t daft. “Not to mention,” he added with a smirk, “hopefully getting them to continue to buy or subscribe to the magazine.”

            “Hey, I won’t deny that,” Bard said with honesty. “I’m in the business to sell magazines, and anything this good just can’t be passed up. Besides, I know you want to be a published author; you’re already popular with our subscribers through your articles and shorts, a serial will only increase your fan base, and only help you in the end when you decided to publish your novels.”    

            “And it won’t hurt your bottom line either to have a well-known author writing for you if I do become published.”

            “It’s a win-win!”

            Bilbo laughed because frankly, that’s how he saw it too. Bard was a great editor and he had always supported Bilbo every step of the way; especially that summer two years ago. Why not take this chance?

            _But what about my employment?_ “This is all great,” Bilbo said slowly, “and I’m more than just interested. But what does this have to do with anything if you’re questioning my employment?”

            Bard gave him a look like Bilbo was stupid. “What the hell are you talking about?”

            “You said earlier that they were questioning my employment.”

            Bard hung his head in clear frustration. “You writer types,” Bard said dryly. “Always so fucking sensitive.”

            “Oh, so sorry,” Bilbo snarked, “if the thought of unemployment leaves me a bit edgy!”

            “ _Unemployment_?” Bard laughed loudly at that. “Is that what you think?”

            “You said, you wanted to talk about my continued employment! What else would I think?”

            Bard shook his head. “It’s not about whether you continued to work for House Proud, it’s whether you will continue to work for House Proud in London, or in _New York_!”

            It was a good thing the chair had armrests so that Bilbo wouldn’t slide out of it. “Are you fucking joking?” Bard’s dark look and hesitation to talk about this made sense now; he Bilbo left, Bard wouldn’t be able to see Bilbo regularly.

            “No, you git” Bard said. “I told you, the board loves your work and they want you to be director of the writing department in the New York offices.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            The building that was owned by and housed Durin and Sons, was one of the few buildings from before World War II that survived the Blitz. I hadn’t escape undamaged; a UXB fell through the roof and took out the upper six floors, as was well as the former owner.

            When the war was over, Thror Durin bought the building from the owner’s widow for a low price. While the outside retained most of its pre-war appearance, the interiors were completely rebuilt, remodeled, and updated.

            First floor was reception, waiting areas and support departments—mail room, IT, and maintenance and so forth. The second through the sixth floors housed the three divisions of Durin and sons; Mutual Funds, Open-ended Funds and UIT’s—Unit Investment Trusts—and the conference rooms. The seventh floor held the secretarial and junior investment staff, while the eighth floor held the executive branch.

            Out of the three main conference rooms, the third floor room was considered the best. The table was huge but oval, so that it was easy to see everyone with little effort. The chairs were large and leather, which made long meetings comfortable. One end of the room had a kitchenette with sink, coffee maker as well as a small refrigerator with sodas and other cold beverages for clients, if they were there. There was also a hidden liquor cabinet and wine fridge for after hours and celebrations. The other end of the room had a hidden computer and retractable wall screen for presentations.

            But it was the windows that Thorin loved the most about the room, as they overlooked the street the building fronted. Those windows were the very reason he always had his meetings there, not just for the natural light, but because he could walk by the window and easily see the crowds below, scanning them, searching them—for a flash of honey-blond curls.  

            Even now, after hours, Thorin stood looking over the crowds below. He didn’t really see the people themselves, just the masses mulling about, and the cars and other vehicles moving back and forth. He simply watched as the world around went on with their lives. Everyone seemed to go on, so why couldn’t he?

            Well, he knew that answer now; thanks to Grey, it was clear.

            He didn’t want to hate anymore. He wasn’t sure what he wanted—no, that wasn’t not true. He knew what he _wanted_ , it was the _having it_ was another story. The most he could get, if he followed Grey’s advice was—what? Explanations? Excuses? Forgiveness? He told Grey he didn’t do forgiveness, but hadn’t he already started to, in a way?

            So, what then? Closure? He didn’t like that word. It was like closing a book—the end of a story. And that’s what he was facing, the end. Was he ready for that? Could he _live_ with that? Because the end meant turning away, letting go and giving up. And he couldn’t give up, he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t he? So what did he—

            Suddenly, Thorin was leaning forward, both hands on the glass. He wasn’t breathing, he had forgotten. He wasn’t seeing anything else but the bobbing and weaving of the slight man with the honey-colored curls as he moved through the crowd across the street. Thorin stood stock-still as he watched as Bilbo entered the small café on the far corner.

            Thorin turned swiftly, moving as quickly as he could with his cane, ignoring the questions of where he was going or what was wrong, and made for his office.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Leaving Bard’s office a bit dazed, Bilbo decided that he just needed to sit down, have a cuppa—maybe a scone or something, too—and just breathe. He would maybe make a list and try to move towards a decision.

            This late in the day Bombur’s would be way too crowded, so Bilbo decided that he would chance it, and go to the small coffee place on the opposite corner from Durin and Sons. He doubted anyone would see him; or care.

            He chose a table in the back and once he was seated, he pulled out a writing pad and a pen and made two columns: Pros and Cons.

            “Hiya,” the young waitress said, coming up to Bilbo’s table. “Can I get you anything?”

            “Cup of tea,” Bilbo said. “With Lemon. And do you have any scones?”

            “Sorry, love,” the waitress said with a frown, “all out. We have black currant teacakes though.”

            “I’ll have one of those too.”

            The waitress smiled and nodded as she left and Bilbo started on his list.

            He knew he would do the serial; that was for sure. It was too great an opportunity to turn down. He knew he was dreaming but the idea that the story arc could one day be a novel, well, it was wondrous! And he would be able to judge the story by how well the readers took to each chapter! This meant, in the end, that he would have feedback on the novel and have time to perfect it before ever handing it over to an editor for book publication. Those all went under the ‘Pros’ column.

            But the move New York was another thing. Did he want to go? Of course, he _wanted_ to go; the offer was tremendous and to think, to be a director of the writing department! He could maybe take the writers in new directions and maybe up the game of the magazine.

            But the move would also mean he would have to leave England behind. That was fine, there wasn’t much here for him now. Well, there was Ori. That would be difficult; leaving his best friend behind. But Ori was moving in his own direction now and frankly, maybe it was time.

            Of course, he’d also be leaving Thorin.

            Leaving Thorin without some sort of … closure, as much as he hated that word, seemed very wrong; like he was running away. And there would be no chance for reconciliation after he was gone. _There wasn’t much of a chance even if he stayed, though_ , he reminded himself. _Just a fantasy._ Just a dream that haunted him still.

            Maybe this opportunity was coming at the right time. If Andy could get Thorin to agree to some sort of meeting, and then Thorin and he could in turn have some sort of resolution, then Thorin could then go back to his life and Bilbo could go on with his; starting anew in The Big Apple. Maybe that would be best. Maybe that’s what the future held for him.      

            So lost in his thoughts as he made notes on his pad, he failed to notice anything or anyone around him. Until, that was, he looked up and found Thorin standing not two meters away from him.

            Bilbo was stunned into silence for several long seconds; all he could do was stare into Thorin’s beautiful, icy-blue eyes as he approached Bilbo’s table.

            “Is this seat taken?” Thorin asked quietly, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the table from Bilbo.

            “It’s all yours,” Bilbo whispered back as Thorin slowly sat down across from him.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Thorin didn’t have a plan. He had simply rushed to grab his suit jacket, and went to leave. However, just as he was about to close his office door, he decided he needed to take something else with him. He quickly pulled open the lower right drawer of his desk, took the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket, and made for the street.

            He wished he could run, but having to walk, calmly and collectively, was truly an advantage. Even in his current frame of mind he knew that coming at Bilbo like a whirlwind would get them nowhere. Of course, a small voice in the back of his mind told him to stop, go back, call Grey and make an appointment, don’t do this alone, but Thorin ignored it; he had courage now, he didn’t know how long that would last.

            The café wasn’t that busy, and it didn’t take but a moment or two for Thorin to spot Bilbo sitting alone in the back. With one deep breath in then a slow release, he walked to towards Bilbo’s table and stood there for a second.

            _God, he’s still so beautiful,_ Thorin thought as he took in the soft curls and smooth, pale skin. Bilbo had removed his grey-green jacket and draped it over the back of the chair next to him, and he wore a red-beige tartan waistcoat over a pale blue shirt; no bowtie.

            Thorin wanted to touch, he wanted to reach out and just feel the warmth of Bilbo in his hands. Or maybe trace the tender flesh of Bilbo’s cheeks with his fingers and feel the slight give of skin as he ran his thumb over Bilbo’s lips. Then there were the curls that Thorin so desperately wanted to bury his nose in and breathe in that scent of flowers and apples that seemed to linger on Bilbo.

            Naturally, he didn’t do any of those things.

            _He’ll probably just reject me; maybe push me away. Maybe I deserve it._

            Finally, after what seemed an eternity of seconds, Bilbo looked up and froze as he locked eyes with Thorin.

            Thorin took a few steps forward. “Is this seat taken?” Thorin asked.

            “It’s all yours,” Bilbo whispered.

            Thorin sat down and once again, neither of them could do more than stare into the other’s unreadable eyes. _Not really unreadable,_ Thorin though. Bilbo did appear to be apprehensive. Thorin leaned forward; placing his elbows on the edge of the table and clasps his hands together.

            “How are you?” Thorin asked. It was the only thing he could get out and still remain calm.

            Bilbo hesitated for a long moment before answering softly, “Well; and yourself?”

            Thorin decided it was no time for lies. “Not so … _well_ ,” Thorin threw out Bilbo’s own reply back.

            Bilbo looked surprised at the comment but stated, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

            “Are you?” Thorin knew it sounded a bit sarcastic, maybe even snide, but he couldn’t help it.

            “Yes, as a matter of fact!” Bilbo said pointedly, sounding offended, before adding quietly, “Though you clearly don’t believe me.”

            Thorin wasn’t sure how to respond to that and he just sat there, stoic and stone faced. _Christ, this is so much harder than I thought!_

There was movement and Thorin turned his head as a waitress brought over a cup of tea and a small teacake on a plate, setting both down in front of Bilbo.

            “There you go,” the young woman said as she straightened up and turned to Thorin. “Is there anything I can get you, sir?”

            “Just coffee,” Thorin replied.

            “Do you want milk and sugar?” She inquired.

            Before Thorin could even answer, Bilbo spoke. “He takes it black.” Bilbo’s eyes widened almost comically when he clearly realized what he had done. The waitress gave Bilbo a cocked eyebrow but she shook her head and left.

            “I apologize,” Bilbo stated. “That just slipped out.”

            Thorin nodded but said nothing; he was at a loss. _How could he care about how I take my coffee, but not about what we shared together?_ The waitress returned rather quickly and set down Thorin’s coffee before she turned and left them in silence; a silence that seemed to stretch on and on.

            “Kind of difficult, isn’t it?” Thorin took a sip but didn’t really taste it. “Not quite the same anymore.”

            Bilbo couldn’t quite seem to meet Thorin’s gaze as he drank from his own cup. “No. Not really.”

            Thorin thought it over as a feeling of bitterness rose up in him. “Hard to even look at me, isn’t it?”

            Bilbo did look up at that, but his face betrayed what Thorin thought was confusion.

            _I wonder why he’s even pretending he doesn’t know._ “Not the same handsome face anymore,” Thorin said with a small, cold smirk and gestured to long scar down the left side of his face.

            Bilbo seemed to cotton on at that point. “Your scar has nothing to do with it.”

            “Doesn’t it?” Thorin commented, once more not believing.

            “Of course not,” Bilbo replied with a huff. “It’s just … just that we weren’t supposed to see each other.” Bilbo looked down to his tea before adding in a barely heard whisper. “Ever again.”

            “Oh, right” Thorin said, as the bitterness seeped into his tone. “Better for both of us.” Thorin paraphrased the hateful letter, and wondered if Bilbo would countermand it.

            But Bilbo gave a slight nod. “Or so I was told.”

            “So youwere _told_?” Thorin did his best not to sneer. “From _whom_?”

            “Who else?” Bilbo said with slight tilt of his head and questioning look. “Your father.”

            “My … _father_?!”

            Bilbo started speaking but Thorin wasn’t really listening at that point. _What the fuck does my father have to do with this? And when the hell did they even converse? Thrain told me that he only exchanged voice messages with Bilbo and never spoke with him directly. This doesn’t make any sense._ Bilbo, of course, kept talking, not realizing that Thorin wasn’t really listening and it was towards the end that Thorin’s mind caught up that he realized a few snippets of what Bilbo was saying; ‘… Conventional life …’, _Whatever the hell that is_ , ‘… What was right; what you wanted …’, _what_ I _wanted_ , ‘… only wanted you to be happy …’, _Do I look happy?_

            The waitress came over and asked them if they wanted anything else. Thorin was too stunned and confused to do more than register her presence, and he was only vaguely aware that Bilbo was handing over his credit card to pay. As the young girl left, Thorin was going to demand that Bilbo explain what the hell he was talking about, but Bilbo’s next words stopped him dead.

            _“_ _Why couldn’t you have at least_ _tried_ _to love me again?_ _”_ Bilbo asked softly. “Why _wasn’t_ I enough?”

            Thorin sat there and he felt as if the world was tilting; these two questions were the same ones that circled his mind like vultures, eating at him all the time. _What in God’s name was Bilbo talking about?_

            “Was it my fault?” Bilbo continued on, not knowing Thorin’s turmoil. “Was I the one that ruined it? Did I push you away; smother you? Write you too often?”

            “ _Too often_?” Thorin was incredulous. _More than once would have been nice!_

            “I know I said it’d write every day,” Bilbo stated quietly, looking down and missing Thorin’s perplexed look. “But once a day wasn’t really enough; I worried even then about writing you so much. I should have realized that someone off to war didn’t … didn’t really _want_ to hear about rainy afternoons and books and going to the store, making dinner for one, or all the little mundane things that happened throughout the day.”

            Thorin thought he was dreaming; it was all so absurd. But part of his mind did register what Bilbo meant and, in fact, he would have loved to hear all the little tiny, silly things that Bilbo had done during his day, every day. He would have loved it completely.

            “But I swear, Thorin,” Bilbo said, pushing on and looking up now with an open, earnest expression. “I only wanted to share those things with you so that you’d feel that we were there together; doing them together. I never meant to drive you away with them.”

            Thorin felt like he was in some sort of farcical play or movie; the world had suddenly become very surreal.

            At that moment the waitress came back and handed Bilbo the receipt to sign. Thorin was glad for the reprieve; he needed to breathe and get his head on straight, because he felt like he was losing his mind, none of this made any—

            Thorin’s hand shot out and grabbed the waitress’ wrist almost instinctively.

            “Oi!” she cried.

            But Thorin was snatching the receipt out of her hand and looking at Bilbo’s signature that he had unconsciously watched Bilbo write. As he stared at the elegant curves and flow of Bilbo’s name, he didn’t need to take out the letter to know what was right before him; the signatures didn’t match. Not at all.

            Not even close.

            “Thorin, what are you _doing_?!” Bilbo sounded more than a little shocked.

            “Sorry,” Thorin said, releasing the girl’s wrist quickly. “I’m sorry, it’s just … just … I’m sorry.”

            The waitress snatched the receipt back, stormed off and Thorin was sure he heard her mutter, _‘Fucking sod,’_ under her breath.

            “Thorin, what is _wrong_ with you?!”

            But Thorin ignored Bilbo’s question. “You said you wrote me.”

            Bilbo huffed. “You know I did.”

            _I don’t know any such thing!_ “ _Where_ did you write me?”

            “Look, let’s just stop playing—”

            “ _Just tell me!_ ”

            Bilbo rolled his eyes at that but answered, “The address _you_ gave me!”

            “I never got any letters from you.”

            “Oh please, Thorin! Look …” Bilbo reached over and removed his wallet from his saddlebag. Thorin felt a little dizzy as he watched Bilbo remove the small slip of paper that Thorin himself has written his address on. What struck him was not just that Bilbo had kept it, but that even after three years; Bilbo continued to keep it safe in his wallet. “Look,” Bilbo continued on. “Captain Thorin Durin, the Hundredth-and-Sixty-Fourth Brigade—”

            _“What?!”_ Thorin let his head fall back and groaned. When he looked back and saw the perplexed look on Bilbo's face, Thorin reached for the paper so he could point out Bilbo’s mistake. “Look _yourself_. It doesn’t say the Hundred-and-Sixty-Fourth; it’s the _Hundred-and-Ninth._ _One_ - _ZERO-Nine_. There is no Hundred-and-Sixty-Fourth Brigade.”

            Bilbo was clearly taken aback as he looked from Thorin, down to the address and then back again. “It looks like One-Six-Four.”

            Thorin almost laughed out loud. “I told you I had shitty handwriting.”

            “But,” Bilbo was still confused, “wouldn’t they just forward them on to you?”

            “No,” Thorin stated flatly, “protocol is to send them on to the last—” Thorin’s mind was catching up. The army would have sent the letters on to the last _confirmed address_ for the addressee. For Thorin, who hadn’t owned a place of his own at the time, they would have sent the letters home; to his parent’s house.

            Sadly, Bilbo wasn’t on the same page. “The last, what?”

            Too many little pieces were coming together in a very ugly picture. His father, the wrong address, letters written but never received – except one with a signature that wasn’t right. But Thorin had another question he had to ask. “Did you come see me in hospital?”

            Bilbo closed his eyes but his face contoured into controlled anger. “Why don’t we just agree not to speak about hospital; shall we?”

            “Why?” Thorin demanded; he was going to an answer, on way or another.

            “Because that’s the one lie I can barely forgive you for.”

            “Forgive _me_ for?!”

            “Oh, Thorin, don’t act like you don’t know!”

            “Know what?”

            “Please, just stop pretending,” Bilbo said his mouth set into a thin line. “I can forgive you for not wanting me anymore; people fall out of love all the time. And I can even accept you wanting a normal family life; you said you wanted children, something I couldn’t give you. And I am more than aware that, in the end, you didn’t owe me anything, but if I had only been told the truth, what you really wanted, at hospital, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

            It was like Bilbo was speaking an alien language to him. “I haven’t a fucking clue what you’re talking about!” Thorin spat out. “ABOUT ANY OF THIS! All I know is, you never came—”

            “I WAS THERE!” Bilbo shouted and banged his fist on the table.

            That seemed to diffuse the tension as they both looked around and suddenly realized that half the café was looking at them. They both sat back and each took a drink and a breath to calm themselves, before Bilbo continued.

            “I was there. I went everyday,” Bilbo said; too angry it seemed to meet Thorin’s eye. “Not that it mattered in the reality of it all.”

            Thorin was having a very difficult time wrapping his head around what Bilbo was calling ‘reality.’

            “But,” Bilbo continued on, “When I went to see you, they told me that I wasn’t allowed on the ward.”

            Thorin couldn’t believe that. “Who’s _‘they?’_ ”

            “The nurses,” Bilbo said.

            _The nurses?_ “Bilbo, I wasn’t on a closed wing.”

            “Well, that’s what they told me!” Bilbo said defensively. “I had only started at the magazine then, and I worked in the office so I could only come at night. They said that only spouses and family members were allowed in; that’s why I ended up having to meet with your Father for updates.”

            Thorin stilled. Once again, Thrain was at the center of a story that was at odds with what Thorin knew. All the cords of this web were leading back to one large spider. _No, not a spider, more like a poisonous wyrm!_ Another, more insidious, tale was forming in Thorin’s mind. It wasn’t clear, but it was taking shape; like a predator crouching in the slowly receding shadows.

            Thorin launched himself out of his chair and headed for the door.

            “Thorin!” Bilbo called out. “Where the hell are you going?!”

            Thorin didn’t turn but shouted over his shoulder, “To Slay a dragon!”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Thorin was late; no surprise to Dis. For all the control he liked to have over every, tiny detail at work, he still couldn’t tear himself away to be somewhere on time. _Well, not necessarily true_ , Dis reminded herself. If it was work related, Thorin was usually spot on. But family? Forget it; it was like his internal clock was stuck at an hour or two behind.

            And this was his birthday; Thorin had always hated his birthday. Not that he hated turning older or anything like that, but because their father had always used Thorin’s birthday as a excuse to throw a huge party and invite clients and turn the entire affair into something rather lurid and showy.

            Thankfully, this year, Dis and been able to convince her mother, who in turn had somehow convinced their father that it should just be family. Naturally, Ori was invited because anyone with one eye and half a brain could see that if they wanted Dwalin there, Ori had better be on the guest list. Dis was sure it burned her father’s arse, but that fact only pleased her more.

            Of course, Dis had made a connection that she hadn’t known was there; maybe this hatred of his birthday in the last few years was tied more to Bilbo Baggins. Dis hadn’t figured it all out yet, but there was something unsettling about it all. That letter was enough to set her mind to working and it was coming up with some very unpleasant conclusions; conclusions she was sure that no one else had made yet. For one, Thorin had never told anyone else and clearly he was in no frame of mind to work out the tiny incontinences that are obvious to an outsider, like herself.

            But Dis needed to test a theory and for that, she would have to push the one person no one wanted pushed. She had come into the sitting room just off the entryway to wait for her prey.

            “Dis, darling,” a soft female voice sounded, “are you alright?”

            Dis shook her head to clear it. “Liddy,” Dis said, as she put on her most brilliant smile she owned. “Sorry, my mind was just wandering.”

            If there was one person she didn’t want to see right then, it was Lady Lidia Northaven. Dis was not surprised at Liddy’s being there. Although not family, Thrain has been pushing Liddy at Thorin whenever the chance arose. Not that Thorin—or even Liddy—seemed interested in going further than close acquaintance, but Thrain just wouldn’t give up. Liddy was nice enough at a party, was certainly fond of Thorin and Dis, and Dis herself would admit that Liddy had turned out to be nowhere near as vapid as Dis first thought she was. But at that moment, Dis had too much on her mind to deal with anyone else.

            “You seem more _lost in thought_ than just _wandering_ ,” Liddy said, taking a sip of her martini. “Here,” Liddy held out a second martini to Dis, “You looked like you might need this.”

            Liddy was right and Dis wasn’t going to turn the drink down. “Thank you.” A rather nasty idea came to her then and she thought she would push another button while she waited. “Liddy,” Dis said after a nice, healthy imbibe of vodka. “Have you ever heard of Bilbo Baggins?”

            Liddy took a slow breath and after a good few seconds of thinking, “No.”

            Dis decided to try the other side of the question. “What about _William-Robert_ Baggins?”

            Liddy’s took a sip of her drink and then a spark seemed to come to her eyes. “You know, the name Baggins does sounds familiar.” Liddy paused for a second. “Stay here.” Liddy rushed off.

            “Has Thorin arrived?”

            Dis turned around and found her mother at the doorway. “Not yet.”

            “He’s late,” Fris sounded very disappointed; like Britain would fall without Thorin there. “And to his own birthday party.”

            “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, mother,” Dis said, and tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Right then, Liddy walked back in with a magazine in her hand.

            “Hello, Mrs. Durin,” Liddy said sweetly.

            “Hello, Lidia dear,” Fris said.

            “Mother,” Dis stated, “Liddy and I need to chat … about business.”

            Fris huffed out a small sigh. “Business at a party. You are so like your father.”

            It was all Dis could do not to the scream at that, but Fris moved off and Liddy stepped forward.

            “Like you father?” Liddy said with a raised eyebrow. “God forbid.”

            Dis had to laugh; she really did underestimate Liddy most of the time. “What have you there?” Dis nodded towards the magazine and Liddy brought it up for Dis to see and read the title. “ _House Proud magazine_? Liddy, is there something you aren’t telling us?”

            Both women laughed. “No!” Liddy said good-naturedly. “This is for my oldest nephew. My father and brother would birth puppies if they knew I bought this for Eddie,” Liddy stated while she flipped quickly through the magazine. “But I am not going to sit back and allow them to push him into the closet.”

            Dis had a feeling this was her week for apologies, first Ori and then Thorin, she now she realized she owed a huge one to Liddy; Dis made a vow to stop judging the woman by her choices of accessories.

            “Here,” Liddy said and held out the magazine for Dis to look at a particular page.

            It was the start of a short story entitled, _The Quest_ , and right under the title was the author’s name; W.R. Baggins. No wonder she didn’t find anything written by Bilbo. _I hope to hell I have the chance to ask Bilbo this whole thing about his name_ , Dis thought.

            “Is this the same person you were asking about?” Liddy said, closing the magazine.

            “I think so,” Dis said, “But I have to wait to confirm with Thorin.”

            “Oh, does Thorin know him?” Liddy’s face lit up.

            “I believe so,” Dis added. “But I also think it’s complicated.”

            “Oh, is this a romance?” Liddy asked eagerly. “I hope it’s something romantic,” before adding quietly. “For Thorin’s sake.”

            “You knew he was gay?” Dis was more than surprised.

            “Of course,” Liddy stated. “I know people think me dim, but I’m not stupid.”

            _Count me as one of them,_ Dis mused. “You just seemed so … taken, with Thorin.”

            “I adore Thorin,” Liddy said. “He’s so handsome in a brooding … Heathcliff sort of way; almost roguish with that scar on his face.”

            Dis breathed out, “His scars go deeper than his skin.”

            “You don’t have to tell me,” Liddy agreed, taking a sip of her martini. “He has a broken heart and I’ve feared no one would mend it.”

            Dis would have gaped if it was in her nature. “Are you going to continue to surprise me all night? _How do you know all this_?”

            Liddy shrugged a shoulder. “We’ve been … well, he’s been _my_ friend for three years, but I wouldn’t presume to make the same statement for him, and I’m not clueless, Dis. I see him suffering and, as you say, it goes far deeper than his injuries. Anyone that cares about him can see it.”

            At that moment Thrain came into sight and started walking towards the two women.

            “Speaking of someone who doesn’t care,” Liddy whispered under her breath. “I’ll see you in the parlour.” Liddy gave a quick smile and nodded greeting to the approaching Thrain as she ducked out of the sitting room and made for the larger living room in the back of the house. Dis vowed to get to know Lidia much, much better in the future.

            “Where the hell is your brother?” Thrain said, coming into the room and pouring himself a double scotch.

            _Lovely to see you too, daddy._ “Most likely stayed late at work,” Dis replied.

            Thrain humphed before downing a good portion of his drink. “Probably trying to plot a take over.”

            “You can’t blame him for working,” Dis responded. “He uses it to deal with his pain.”

            “Pain,” Thrain spat out. “He just needs to get off his fucking arse and starting acting like a real man.”

            Dis almost laughed, and decided to push one of Thrain’s buttons. “Maybe if he had a good partner at his side, he could settle down.”

            Thrain threw a smirk in Dis’ direction. “He’s had three years to get his fucking act together and Liddy has been waiting for him to get off the fucking fence.”

            “I don’t think so,” Dis said with a smirk of her own. “They’re only friends.”

            “As long as he lives in some fantasy world they are,” Thrain countered. “Honestly, as weak as Frerin was, at least he had the balls to fuck the right gender.”

            Dis took a quick, calm breath—time to push Thrain’s ultimate button and test her theory. “Oh I don’t know,” Dis said softly. “I think a good man like Bilbo Baggins would’ve been perfect for Thorin.”

            Thrain froze and for a few seconds Dis expected him to act innocent or deny ever hearing that name before. But Thrain slowly turned around and the look in his eyes nearly had Dis backing up; it was vicious.

            Before Dis could react, however, Thrain snatched Dis wrist and twisted it painfully as he leaned in close. “Now you listen to me, little girl,” Thrain snarled like a rabid bear. “If you ever mention that name again, to anyone, you will live to regret it.”

            Dis tried to break free but it was no use and Thrain only tightened his grip to the point where Dis had to bend with the pressure or risk further pain.

            “I won’t let you or your idiot brother,” Thrain continued, uncaring of Dis’ discomfort, “let that fucking, worthless, poofter, bring this family to ruin! Do I make myself clear?”

            At that moment voices could be heard and it only took a few moments for it to register that Dwalin and Ori had arrived.

            “Speaking of worthless poofters,” Thrain hissed out, released Dis and stalked off towards the parlour.

            Dis stood rooted to the spot, too shocked to move. Never had her father done such a thing, especially to her. But as frightening as the episode had been, a small, dark voice in her mind told her that she shouldn’t be surprised. As she heard Dwalin and Ori come closer, she finally moved to get them.

            “Hello, there,” Ori said with a bright smile. “Sorry we're late; we had to swing by the cleaners.”

            “Hello, cousin,” Dwalin said, bending to give Dis a kiss on the cheek.

            But both men clearly read Dis’ face; Dwalin stopped and his eyes narrowed while Ori frowned. “What’s wrong?” Ori asked, his voice filled with concern.

            “Come in here,” Dis pulled them both into the sitting room.

            “What happened?” Dwalin asked, his voice and eyes darkening.

            Dis decided that it was time for the truth, all the way around. She told them of finding the letter and Thorin’s reaction when she told him. She mentioned her conclusions that somehow her father was involved and then finally her confrontation with Thrain not but a few minutes before.

            “I’ll fucking kill him,” Dwalin vowed as he made to leave.

            “No you don’t,” Ori commanded grabbing Dwalin’s arm and barely holding the larger man back. “That won’t help the situation right now.” Ori had taken Dis’ wrist in other hand and was rubbing it to ease some of the pain. “We should get Thorin alone at some point and talk to him before we do anything else. However, I have to say, Dis, I just don’t believe Bilbo wrote that letter; I won’t believe it.”

            “That’s my point,” Dis stated. “I don’t think he did either, however I think it’s clear now that Thorin believed he did.”

            “How could he even think that?” Ori asked.

            Dis didn’t get to answer; the front door slammed shut and as the three exited, they found Thorin there with a thunderous look on his face. Dis noticed that he clutched the handle of his cane with whitened knuckles.

            “Thorin,” Dwalin started but didn’t finish.

            “Where’re the boys?” Thorin asked Dis, ignoring Dwalin.

            “Not here yet,” Dis said.

            “Text Vili and tell him to keep them away. Where’s dad?”

            “In the living room,” Dwalin answered offhanded, but added, “Thorin we need to talk to you.”

            “Not now,” Thorin made to leave but Ori stepped in front of him.

            “We need to talk to you about Bilbo,” Ori stated firmly.

            Thorin turned to the smaller man, his face alight with anger, but he surprised them all with a gentle reply. “He’s the very reason I need to see my father.” At that Thorin stepped around Ori and headed for the back of the house with the others right behind him.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know the real protocol for when a letter to military personnel is mis-addressed, but in my world, the military sends them to the last confirmed address. I hope if anyone is in or knows of the military, they can forgive me if I am terribly wrong.
> 
> \-------------
> 
> For those who think LIddy is a new character - i suggest you go back to Chapter 6 and check out the flashback ....


	17. WEDNESDAY - At Last, Part 2

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Thorin was feeling a whirlwind of emotion. Enraged? Incensed? Infuriated? They didn’t come close to describing what he was going through. If one had asked Thorin, and he had been able to articulate a single word, _murderous_ , probably would have been the closest. But then, he wasn’t planning much beyond getting his father within arms’ reach and choking the life out of him.

            As he came through his parents’ front door, he also hadn’t planned on being stopped by Dis, Dwalin, and Ori. Seeing Dis reminded him of his nephews and at that second, reason kicked in; he didn’t want them to witness anything Thorin was about to do. Luckily, Vili had not brought them yet. Good, keep them away. Dwalin said they wanted to talk to Thorin but he wouldn’t be stopped.

            It took Ori to bring him to a halt.

            “We need to talk to you about Bilbo,” Ori said.

            Just hearing Bilbo’s name was enough to calm him a little and Thorin felt a sort of shiver move through him as if every nerve in his body responded to the timbre of Bilbo’s name. “He’s the very reason I need to see my father.”

            Thorin quickly stepped around Ori; he needed to seek out that one person he knew to be the cause of his and Bilbo’s pain and loss. But the small break was enough to refocus his anger; it wasn’t only about getting to the bottom of it all, it was about getting the truth at last, and that meant getting his father to admit it.

            _Yeah, probably not going to be so easy_ , now that Thorin thought about it.

            The long walk to the large, back parlour gave him the time to breathe and focus. _Keep dad on track,_ Thorin told himself. _Don’t let him drift or get off subject. Don’t let him play games._ He suddenly saw that his entire, immediate family was there and for the briefest of moments he wondered if he should do this here and now. _No, they need to hear this too,_ Thorin thought with a rather grim satisfaction _. They_ all _need to hear this_.

            As he walked into the room, Thorin found himself surrounded.

            “Happy Birthday, Thorin dear,” his mother said to his left and she gently pulled him down to kiss his cheek.

            “Happy birthday, darling,” Liddy said from his right as he was now pulled to the other side for a warm hug from his friend.

            Thorin’s was taken aback. “I didn’t expect you here,” Thorin said a little surprised, returning Liddy’s hug and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

            “Your mother invited me,” Liddy whispered quickly. “And I wouldn’t want to miss time with the one person in my life I can actually get a truthful answer from.” Thorin would admit, that was one of the reasons he had become friends with Liddy to begin with; she told him the truth.

            Suddenly, Thorin didn’t know what to do. Part of him cringed; he had no desire to hurt or embarrass Liddy. Their fathers had thrown the two them at each other for the last few years but neither had a desire for anything more. But, Thorin knew that not even Liddy’s presence would be enough to forestall the confrontation with his father and frankly, like the rest of his family, there was a little satisfaction in knowing that his father’s ‘crimes’ would be aired in front of outsiders.

            As Thorin and Liddy drew apart, his uncles, Fundin and Groin, along with Groin’s wife, Ingrid, called greetings to him. Gloin, his wife Aziza, and Gimli wished him happy birthday as did Balin, while Oin gave Thorin a jaunty wave hello. He was aware, more than saw, Dis, move with Dwalin and Ori to stand next to Balin, while through it all, Thrain’s gaze never left him. Ironically, or maybe predictably, Thrain gave no greeting or wishes, only nodded, just a passing acknowledgment; no more.

            “Why not have a drink, Thorin,” Thrain said with a smile that Thorin wanted to wipe off the man’s face.

            _A drink,_ Thorin thought, _I’d love one actually._ Thorin had been sober since Saturday and he wouldn’t have minded a drink. Frankly, there was a strong desire to just drown it all in a bottle of something. Then Thrain lifted his own glass and took a deep drink as if challenging his son, and Thorin remembered all those times that Thrain had commented that _‘real men’_ did this or that or some other thing. Thorin didn’t need to be _‘real’_ —whatever the hell that meant—he needed to be a _grown_ man, a _strong_ one.

            Bilbo deserved that.

            “No thanks,” Thorin replied not breaking eye contact with his father. “I need to keep my wits about me.”

            “Whatever for,” Thrain said with a rather cold laugh, clearly not understanding the danger he was in. “You’re not getting any younger you know, might as well live it up.”

            “Live it up,” Thorin repeated before stating, “Is that what I’m missing out on? Living?” Thorin walked to the drinks cabinet, and for a moment, the want of a drink filled him, but he crushed it and reached for a glass, filled it with water and drank half of it in one gulp. The cold water felt good as it ran down his throat and settled in his stomach. He took another drink, refilled the glass, and then turned around.

            “Where have you been, Thorin?” Fris asked.

            “I had a meeting that couldn’t be postponed,” Thorin stated.

            “You work too much,” Groin stated good-naturedly. “You’re like Gloin and Gimli.”

            “I like work, thank you,” Gloin told his father, but he was laughing. Thorin was a bit envious; Uncle Groin and his family were so close and loving. Then again, so were Uncle Fundin and his sons. Even with Ori, Thorin could see Uncle Fundin’s growing attachment; Ori was slowly being adopted.

            _Bilbo should have had that too,_ Thorin though with a tiny bit of bitterness. _But no, I had to stick him with a fucking bastard of a father._

            “A meeting this late in the day?” Fundin asked. “Surely it could have waited.”

            Thorin took another drink of water. “Not this meeting,” Thorin said, giving his father a hard look for a second before looking at his uncle. “It was long overdue.”

            The tension in the room was escalating, but Thorin didn’t care. His father though was clearly sensing it and had started to stare at Thorin intensely as Thorin returned his gaze as if sizing each other up. Years of pushing and pulling and shoving, both figuratively and literally, had come to an end. And Thrain was obviously beginning to understand the same thing.

            “Who were you meeting, Thorin?” Balin asked, before getting a pointed look from his brother.

            “Someone dear to me,” Thorin said, sending a glare to his father once more. “Or at least, I used to be to them.”

            “Someone dear to you?” Fris asked, throwing what Thorin thought was a concerned look in Liddy’s direction. However, she needn’t have bothered.

            “Is this the person Dis has been talking about?” Liddy said, lighting up.

            “What?” Thorin was once again taken aback.

            Liddy seemed to realize who she was around. “I must be mistaken,” Liddy said smoothly, trying to cover her perceived gaffe. Thorin had always liked that Liddy was discreet, but he didn’t want her to be now, not this time because he knew Dis had already started the ball rolling.

            “No,” Thorin pushed. “Who was she talking to you about?”

            “We can chat later,” Liddy said, still not getting Thorin’s meaning.

            _Say his name, please. Say it and let it all be done._ “It’s all right, Liddy. Tell me,” Thorin asked. “If I was ever your friend, tell me.”

            Thorin was sorry to see his friend put on the spot, but when Liddy looked from him to Dis, Thorin did the same and saw the Dis gave Liddy a nod of encouragement.

            “I just wonder if you were meeting, Mister Baggins,” Liddy said finally.

            Thorin didn’t even want to contain his smile. “As a matter-of-fact, I was meeting him.”

            “Who’s Mister Baggins?” Fundin asked as did Balin and Gloin at the same time.

            The air was getting thick, like cold custard. But that didn’t stop Thrain from shooting a fiery look at Thorin, which only amused Thorin to no end. There was no greater pleasure for him, besides loving Bilbo, than making his father mad.

            “If you have something to say, boy,” Thrain ground out with a sneer, “then say it.”

            Everyone shot glances back and forth between Thorin and Thrain, and Thorin was all for letting the discomfort continue on. But the time had come and there was no stopping this train.

            “His full name is Bilbo Baggins, Uncle Fundin,” Thorin said while keeping his gaze focused on his father, “and in order for you to fully understand, I need to tell you a little story. A _fairy_ story, if you will,” Thorin saw his father’s sneer grow and he almost laughed.

            “Once upon a time,” Thorin said sarcastically, “there was a soldier who wanted to die. He wanted to die because he was too scared to take his own life. You see, the soldier was unloved, therefore he had no fear of battle; what did he need to fear? He had nothing to live for, so why shouldn’t he willingly sacrifice his life for his country and die with honor, in battle; or so he thought. He truly feared nothing but the idea that he would have to return home someday and live the rest of his life as something less than human in his parent’s eyes.”

            Fris looked stricken but Thorin paid her no mind, and Thrain’s jaw just tightened as the man’s expression grew harder and stonier.

            “But something happened on the eve of his last deployment,” Thorin continued. “The soldier met a beautiful young man and, the soldier, he … he finally learned …” Thorin’s voice threatened to crack, “… he learned he had a reason to hope, a reason to live; because the two of them loved each other, completely, for this was no ordinary love, but an all-consuming one … not the kind that burned them but one that changed them, transformed them and made them more than they were.

            “And so, the young man, sent his soldier … for he very much belonged to him now … off to war. They promised to write, to be together when the soldier returned, and to have everything they both ever wanted or dreamed of having.

            “But the fates can be cruel and unkind, Uncle Fundin. You see, the solider was almost killed; he almost got the wish he no longer wanted to be fulfilled and it was during his recovery that he was led to believe that the young man didn’t love him anymore.”

            Thorin, took a deep breath and a drink of his water, letting the story sink in before pushing on.

            “Now, one may ask, how could such a thing happen? How could something so beautiful and perfect come to such an end? Well, you see, the letters from the young man were intercepted, by someone who wished the two lovers ill and so the letters never made it to the solider. And as the soldier lay broken and despairing in his hospital bed, he was told that he had been betrayed, by the same person who stopped the letters to begin with, and in their place, the soldier given a forged letter instead, and it spoke not of the young man’s love, but of abandonment, and so the soldier’s heart turned to stone and his love turned to hate.”

            Thorin had to stop; he had to breathe. He was fighting back his tears and it was then that he heard a sniffle to one side and found that Ori was staring at him with a watery, accusing glare. For a second he was confused but realized that Ori must blame him for what pain and suffering he had witnessed Bilbo go through. Thorin understood that maybe he deserved that accusation, but he had to continue his story to the end.

            “Even after all they had gone through,” Thorin pushed on, “the fates were not finished with them. You see, three years later, the young man’s best friend,” Thorin gestured to Ori and Dwalin, “fell into the arms of the soldier’s cousin and they unwittingly set in motion the truth coming out.”

            “Thorin,” Fundin said firmly. “What exactly are you telling us?”

            Thorin’s breathing was getting heavy, as his anger was beginning to simmer and heat.

            “It’s simple, Uncle Fundin,” Thorin said through clenched teeth. “This was no made-up story, no fairy tale. It’s the story of my life and the love I had with Bilbo Baggins.”

            “Thorin,” Fris asked, “What do you mean you wanted to die?”

            “Just what I said, mother,” Thorin spat out. “When did you or dad ever care if I lived or died?!”

            “Thorin!” Fris was on the verge of tears. “That’s not true! We’ve never wanted such a thing!”

            “Oh, please!” Thrain said, downed the rest of his drink and pouring another. “It would have been better for him to die than for us to put up with this shit!”

            “What the hell is wrong with you, Thrain!” Groin asked incredulously.

            “How can you even think such a thing about your own son?!” Fundin demanded.

            “Don’t tell me you don’t wish the same, Fundin,” Thrain spat out. “You can’t possibly be happy your youngest is hooked up with some little fag!”

            “You shut your fucking mouth!” Dwalin snarled.

            “Really, Dwalin,” Thrain said smugly. “He might be good for a quick fuck now and then but must you parade him in front of the family?”

            Dwalin swore again and started towards his uncle, but Balin and Ori held him back, with the later urging Dwalin to stay calm.

            “I have never been so monstrous,” Fundin said, giving Thrain an astonished look, “as to wish for the death of my own child! And I will tell you now, Ori is a welcomed addition to my family so I warn you to be careful of what you say.”

            “Why so taken with him, Fundin,” Thrain smirked. “Does he put out for you too?”

            “GOD-DAMNIT,” Dwalin bellowed. “YOU FUCKNIG PIECE OF—”

            It took Fundin as well as Ori and Balin to hold Dwalin back at that point. Thorin, frankly, was all for letting Dwalin pummel his father, but he still wanted answers.

            “Good Lord, Thrain,” Groin said, clearly disgusted. “What had gotten into you?!  And how could you wish such a thing for Thorin, especially after poor Frerin?”

            Thrain instantly wore a scowl as if he had been forced to eat lemons. “Save me the sob story,” Thrain said, downing another scotch. “I can honestly say, that the only good thing about Thorin’s little fuck was that he didn’t cost me like that fucking rag-head whore Frerin slept with!”

            There was silence for a moment as Thrain’s confession sunk in.

            “What did you do?!” Fris demanded.

            Dis, on the other hand, asked, “Just how did it, _cost you_?”

            “Do you think it was cheap to get rid of that girl?!” Thrain replied as if he should have been thanked. “Where do you think her camel-fucking father got the money to con some chump back in Pakistan to marry his daughter?!”

            “What?!” Both Fris and Dis shouted at the same time.

            “What do you think happened?!” Thrain spat out.

            “Do you mean to tell me,” Fris stammered out, “That was why she left Frerin?”

            “Of course!” Thrain obviously thought his wife was being stupid. “I gave them two-hundred-thousand pounds to bribe some doctor or lawyer! Her mother took her to back to Pakistan to arrange it. That _should’ve been_ the fucking end of it! But oh, no, Frerin couldn’t handle reality and just let her go!”

            At that, Fris made the most gut-wrenching, strangled sound and fled the room while Dis had to lean onto Thorin for support because she looked like she might actually faint.

            Only Thorin could find the words to continue. “In other words, it was you that pushed Frerin into taking his own life!”

            “He took his own life because he was WEAK!” Thrain snarled. “He could’ve fucked some white girl and been just as happy, but no … he couldn’t have been strong if his life depended on it! And in the end, it did!” Thrain just shook his head at his own words. “It’s better that he’s dead than us having to put up with some Paki _bitch_ in the family!” But Thrain seemed finished with Frerin and turned his hatred on his eldest son. “But at least Frerin knew which orifice to fuck. Unlike you!”

            Thorin’s anger finally reached its boiling point. Thorin threw his glass away, hearing it shatter somewhere to his side, and he turned on his father.

            “I want to know what you did!” Thorin demanded. “I know he wrote me, he told me so, and I know you faked … this …” Thorin ripped the vile letter from his jacket pocket, “You lied to me! You lied to him! You conspired to keep us apart!” Thorin was almost crazed. “YOU KEPT FROM ME THE ONLY MAN I EVER LOVED!   YOU STOLE FROM US BOTH THE LIFE WE COULD HAVE HAD, AND I WANT TO KNOW WHY!”

            “BECAUSE I WILL NOT TOLERATE A WORTHLESS, PENNYLESS QUEER IN THIS FAMILY!” Thrain bellowed. “Why couldn’t you be FUCKING NORMAL?!”

            “ _Normal_?” Thorin threw back at his father. “You mean like _you_? A miserable fucking bigot!”

            “Spare me your sanctimonious dribble!” Thrain yelled. “I’m not the pervert here, you are! And just like your brother, you had to go and ruin everything!”

            Thorin was seething but his father only continued on with his vitriol.

            “It’s sad that the only normal one in the family is your fucking sister, and she had to go and breed with that SOCIALIST SCUMBAG!” Thrain pushed on. “Leave it to you and your moronic brother to choose the two most inappropriate people to fuck! And honestly Thorin, only you would pick that sniveling little cocksucker, Bilbo Baggins! Christ, the way he cried and carried on when you were in hospital … it almost made me sick!”

            “FUCK YOU!” Thorin said.

            “I have to say,” Thrain sneered, “Baggins at least was clever enough to give me a run for the money.”

            “What do you mean?” Thorin demanded.

            “You weren’t gone a week, when those damn letters started arriving,” Thrain said. “Even with all the sap he wrote, I knew he was going to be trouble.”

            “You read my letters?!” Thorin demanded.

            “Of course,” Thrain said without remorse. “How else was I supposed to figure out his weakness?”

            Thorin concentrated on breathing, but it was all he could do to keep from killing his father.

            “At first I wasn’t sure what would be best,” Thrain pushed on. “I thought about sending him a telegram stating that you had been killed in action, but I feared he’d see through that. Then I thought about writing him _as you_ and telling him you changed your mind and wanted nothing further to do with him, but that also left too many loose ends. But when you were sent home in pieces not a month later, I knew I had been gifted the perfect opportunity.”

            “The perfect opportunity,” Thorin whispered to himself; his father’s apathy towards him was never more evident.

            “Naturally,” Thrain said, “Baggins had no way of knowing you were back, not yet, but I figured it would only be a matter of time, so I had you moved. I called your commanding officer and told him we wanted you in a private hospital and we would pay for everything. I knew once I had you on the VIP ward, I would have more control over the staff there.”

            “Is that when you told them to lie to Bilbo and keep him out?”

            “Of course,” Thrain said matter-of-factly. “I had to be quick. I figured that Baggins would found out where you were eventually, so I had to get the nurses on my side right away. Even the best nurses aren’t paid enough, so it barely cost me any money to bribe them!

            “As I predicted, it was only a few weeks before Baggins found out where you were. The nurses kept him away but I worried that someone would break or some new hire wouldn’t know and let him in. So, I befriended him and told him that you were still in a coma and that you hadn’t woken up yet. We agreed to meet daily in the lobby, and I would tell him of your condition. The whole time he did nothing but prattle on and on about his feelings and hopes and all that crap! It was all I could do to keep a straight face most of the time. And all through your hospital stay, he still continued to write those stupid letters. He said he didn’t want you to think he had forgotten his promise … whatever the hell that meant. I realized that I had to get rid of him for good, quickly,  because you were on the verge of waking up. So, in the end, I revived the idea I had before, and told him you had died without ever regaining consciousness.”

            Thorin felt ill and a bit dizzy. Flashes of what Bilbo had said earlier came back to him, _‘Because that’s the one lie I can barely forgive you for … if I had only been told the truth, what you really wanted, at hospital,_ _we wouldn’t be here right now.’_ And this was it, wasn’t it? If Bilbo had found out later that Thorin was indeed alive, it only went to show to Bilbo that Thorin’s death was a lie. But Bilbo’s words seemed to indicate something worse; that Thorin knew about it all. Thorin realized that if Bilbo believed that Thorin had lied about his own death with along with his father, then Bilbo would have also thought that Thorin had abandoned him.

            Not the other way around.

            “So you told Bilbo I had died,” Thorin managed to get out; he truly felt like he would be sick.

            “I’d hoped that would be the end of Baggins,” Thrain continued. “But even then he couldn’t let go! When I told him you were dead, he insisted he had to write you one last, fucking letter; asked me to put in your coffin with you if we buried you or in your vault if you were cremated and your ashes interred. Fucking pathetic really, but as I said, I had hoped that would be the end of it.

            “You, on the other hand, were easier to deal with,” Thrain sounded almost proud of himself. “You had started waking but still weren’t conscious. You were muttering Bilbo’s name in your sleep and I realized I had to have a plan ready the moment you were awake. So I told you that Baggins had called the ward to ask about you but that he had refused to come to the hospital. I told you I had exchanged voicemails with him but that he had no desire to see you. I could tell it was working as you grew angrier with each mention of his name, but I worried you might still go looking for him when you were out, so I concocted the letter and made sure that it told you to never contact him again.”

            It was like reliving the nightmare of waking in hospital all over again, but this time, Thorin was getting the other side of the story and it made the pain all the acuter. To think, while he had been blaming Bilbo, Bilbo had been told that Thorin was . . . dead.  

            “Who wrote the letter?” Thorin wanted to know; he wanted to know who would help his father do such a thing.

            “I don’t know!” Thrain stated as if it was obvious. “Some no-name, nobody from the secretarial pool at work! I got some young assistant, paid her a little bonus and had her write out something along the lines I needed the letter to say. I knew you would recognize mine or your mother’s handwriting and I didn’t want to chance you picking up my own secretary’s scribble. My one concern was that the girl might blab, so I had her fired a couple of weeks later.”

            _Jesus Christ,_ Thorin thought incredulously, _the man truly has no shame at all._

            “With Baggins finally out of the picture,” Thrain said, “you would be free to find someone else.” He motioned to Liddy with his glass. “Someone more appropriate. However, once again, I underestimated Baggins resolve.” Thrain downed another drink and continued on as he poured yet another.   “Just a year later, he showed up at my office. Apparently, my one mistake was that we didn’t invite him your … _funeral_ ,” Thrain laughed, thinking it funny. “He was coming by to see me because he wanted to visit your grave on the anniversary of your meeting.” Thrain rolled his eyes while Thorin was dying inside. “Unfortunately, he caught sight of you and Liddy as the two of you were getting into a car on your way somewhere.”

            Thorin remembered that vividly. He didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. He not only didn’t want to celebrate his birthday, he wanted to be alone—because he was still mourning Bilbo’s loss and he only wanted to drink away the memories. Liddy had had her arm hooked around his elbow and just as they were getting in the car, she had kissed him on the cheek to reassure him he would have fun and enjoy himself. And little did he know at the time, that somewhere nearby, Bilbo was watching him, after being told Thorin was dead.

            Liddy looked horrified when she turned to Thorin. “I swear, Thorin. I knew nothing about any of this!”

            Thorin put a calming hand on Liddy’s shoulder and shook his head. “I never would have thought you did, Liddy. I don’t blame you.”

            “You can blame the idiot, Baggins, himself,” Thrain said.

            “How is he to blame?” Thorin demanded.

            “He came barging up to my office,” Thrain continued, “after he saw you. I wasn’t sure what to do at that moment, but luckily I only had to let him carry on. I quickly realized that he thought Liddy was your wife! If only! It was the perfect excuse; I simply had to agree with him. I told him that, yes, you and I had lied about your death and that I had done so because you wanted a normal life and children and that you realized you hadn’t really loved him.” Thrain looked all the smugger at his perceived brilliance. “I even offered him fifty-thousand pounds and told him that you wanted him to have it should he ever find out about your _marriage_ , and that it was best if you two never saw each other again, but he was too high and mighty to take the money.”

            _No,_ Thorin wanted to shout out, _he was too good for such thing._ But it was another voice that shattered the air.

            “You bastard!” Ori yelled, pointing a finger at Thrain.

            “Shut up, you little fag!” Thrain bellowed back.

            “Don’t you dare call him any such thing!” Balin shouted, beating both his brother and father to Ori’s defense.

            Ori, with tears in his eyes, turned to Thorin. “The year after you met, that was two years ago. I had finally come down from Edinburgh to visit. Bilbo came home one night, near the end of July, and he was too calm, it was almost eerie. He said he was fine and insisted I had to go to the store; he practically pushed me out the door! I left but I had a feeling something was wrong. Then I got a text from him that just said, _‘good-bye’_ and I rushed back,” Ori was sobbing and he turned on Thrain once more. “Because of you, I found my best friend bleeding to death on the bathroom floor! Because of you, you _FUCKING SON-OF-A-BITCH!_ ”

            Dwalin gathered the now hysterical Ori to him, holding and cradling him close. Thrain threw out a curse and began to advance in Ori’s direction. However, Fundin, Balin and Thorin immediate stepped forward, effectively creating a wall between Thrain and Ori. Thrain at least had the brains to back down.

            Thorin was done; he had the answers he sought, and he was done. There was only one thing he wanted now.           

            “Where are the letters?!” Thorin demanded.

            “Destroyed!” Thrain sneered.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            No parent should have to lose a child. And there aren’t many ways worse than for that child to take their own life. The feelings that one could have, or should have, done more—that somehow the signs should have been seen and events should have been prevented—continue to plague the minds of those left behind.

            Fris Durin was no different. She had always been perfectly aware of what her husband called ‘toughening up’ their children. Thrain had consistently told her that it was in the children’s best interest, he had insisted that he knew best and that she should just butt out and leave the true parenting to him. So she threw the children parties and made sure they had they favorite treats and told them bedtime stories and soothed their hurt feelings and told them that it was totally normal and they shouldn’t cry.

            And she repeatedly told herself that her children were strong, they would be alright. Thorin was stoic and solid, always able to handle Thrain’s worse attacks and even stood up to them, now and then; Thorin was brave. Dis never seemed to be bothered by her father’s patronizing words; Dis was her own person. True, her sweet Frerin didn’t always understand and he often sought comfort in Fris’ arms when it was too much, but he had grown up into such a handsome, sensitive man and she believed that Frerin would be just fine with the right person at his side.

            Fris told herself over and over that she didn’t need to worry. After all, she herself had put up with Thrain’s constant comments and degradations and insults their entire marriage. Even when Thrain had made threats, she said she would be fine. And bruises were so minor and easy to cover up. She would continue to be the happy housewife and provide the counterbalance to her husband. Surely the children would be alright; especially Frerin who was so like her.

            What a fool she had been.

            Having the mask stripped away by Thrain’s words had been the final blow to her carefully constructed house of cards. To hear that Thorin, her ‘little man’ as she always called him, had wanted to die; _to die,_ had been almost too much; her heart wanted to break. But then to hear that Thrain had been the one that pushed Frerin to the bitter edge and had so carelessly and unfeelingly tipped her sweet boy, her baby, over into despair had been the final blow. It had been one thing to have been led to believe Frerin was ill, that he was suffering—as so many of the doctors had told her over the years. But to hear now, in full view of the entire family, that it had really been her husband, the children’s father, that had truly been the cause—the camel’s back could hold no more straw.

            Fris knelt now in her closet, clutching the photo of Frerin that she kept hidden from her husband. Her baby was gone and there was no way to ever bring him back and while she had always known that, the hurt and pain was suddenly raw again and she could only cry for all that she had lost.

            But other thoughts were seeping up now and she realized that while she could not bring Frerin back, she could stop Thrain’s advance on their grandsons. She had seen the way Thrain looked at Kili with growing contempt; judging the bright, laughing boy as something unworthy because Kili wasn’t like Thrain and never would be. And she had noticed how Thrain was subtly seducing Fili, turning the blond into a pale shade of his grandfather.

            No, she had to prevent that, she had to do something. And she would, damnit—even if she had to take on Thrain herself, she would do it. Fili and Kili needed her and, in a small way, maybe it would be the start of her repentance for her failure to help her Frerin.

            And there was something she could do right now, for Thorin. She didn’t know if she could ever make up for what she had been part of, but she didn’t matter now—only Thorin mattered.

            Taking a few deep breathes, she put Frerin’s picture where she could easily pack it with her things later, and turned around, pushing aside the detritus, looking for the items she had so diligently kept hidden for the last three years.

           

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Where are the letters?!” Thorin demanded.

            “Destroyed!” Thrain bellowed. “I gave them to your mother to burn!”

            “No,” Fris called out and everyone turned towards her. “No, they’re not. They’re here.” She walked forward, holding two inconspicuous shoeboxes in front of her.

            Thorin reached up and gently took the lid off the first one and saw envelope after envelope, all with Bilbo’s writing on it, all addressed to him and all with the forwarding label from the military. His mind quickly registered that the letters were in chronological order with the first in the front. Replacing the lid, he picked up the top box and tucked it under an arm, while he removed the lid of the second box; these letters were all unaddressed but still bore his name written out in Bilbo’s beautiful, elegant writing.

            “The first box is all the letters that arrived here,” Fris said. “The second is all the letters that he wrote while you were in hospital.”

            Thrain’s words bubbled up in his mind, _‘When I told him you were dead, he insisted he had to write you one last, fucking letter’_ and Thorin reached for the last letter in the second box. The envelope was different and the writing was shaky, but still easily seen as Bilbo’s. He knew he should wait, but he couldn’t. He opened it and didn’t care that his mother stood by him. The writing, like the envelope, was shaky, but Thorin could still read the beautiful script, though there were spots where the ink had run; from what looked like tears falling. That alone hurt, but what was written was like a knife to the chest.

 

 

_My dearest Thorin, my love,_

_I have learned today that you have passed from this world._

_I will not say my heart is broken, for it is beyond that – it is shattered, like brittle ice and snow, and I am left cold and numb._

_Yet, I must confess that my heart is not shattered for me, but for you._

_Did you suffer? Did you linger in agony or pain? Were your dreams filled with visions of frightening things that you couldn’t escape from? Oh, my love, I pray that none of that was so. I am sick at the thought that you may have had even a moment of pain or fear, and no one to comfort you._

_I must cling to the hope that you passed in peace._

_I have never forgotten our time together and as perfect as it was, my only regret was that it was all too short._

_Oh, how I would have loved to have heard your voice or gazed into your eyes or simply held your hand one last time; or to feel the warmth of your touch, of your kisses, of your very being next to mine._

_Many say the dead do not wish those left behind to stop living. While I have no idea if that is true, I can say that I will hold on to my promises – I will never stop loving you, nor will I ever love again._

_Who could compare to you?_

_You were, and will remain, all that was or will be for me, for my heart, and for my soul._

_Rest peacefully my sweet. And, if I am so blessed, may we one day, somewhere, meet again and be together, as we should have been._

_I will always love you._

_Bilbo_

           

           

            So unlike the forged letter, the eloquence alone was beautiful and tender, but he could not deny that this letter broke his heart more. Even in his midst of his suffering, Bilbo’s only concern had been for Thorin. And he couldn’t help but wonder, what had his Bilbo gone through? How much pain and sorrow had Bilbo endured? Thorin could not fail to comprehend that as he lay in his hospital bed, recovering and hating Bilbo for his perceived abandonment, Bilbo was clinging to their love and mourning Thorin; alone.

            Thorin looked up and, for a moment, locked eyes with his mother and realized that she too understood the implications. But that moment of understanding between them died quickly in the fire of Thorin’s cold anger.

            “Don’t think,” Thorin said low, through clenched teeth, “that because you saved these letters, I will forgive you or him for what you’ve done.”

            Fris looked away in shame and nodded slowly as she answered in a whisper, “I wouldn’t expect you to, Thorin.”

            And right then, Thrain made it known that he too couldn’t forgive his wife. “I wanted those things gone!” Thrain yelled. “I told you to destroy them!”

            Fris slowly turned a narrowed gaze to her husband.  “I don't care what you wanted,” Fris replied, “You no longer matter."

            With a quick, elegant turn of her heel, his mother marched off and Thorin knew it was all over now. There was nothing else left for him here and he made to leave as well as just as he father called his name, making him turn.

            “THORIN!” Thrain bellowed. “You walk out that fucking door, you can count yourself disowned! You are no son of mine!”

            “Don’t make it sound like such a threat," Thorin said with a hollow laugh.  'Besides, weren’t you listening to yourself? I died three years ago.” Thorin refused to stay and listen anymore. He walked out the door and didn't look back.  The world now felt dimmer, joyless, and empty to him because he had lost all hope.

            He'd lost it when he lost Bilbo.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Dis was horrified. Never in her life would she have thought her father capable of such acts; and to dismiss them as trivial was even worse. Both her brothers, one life ended and the other in ruins, destroyed by the delusional designs of their own father.

            Her boys would never be allowed near their grandfather again; never.

            She looked around the room; her mother was gone, Aunt Ingrid was rushing off in the direction Fris took, her Uncles, Fundin and Groin, arguing with her father, Gloin, and Aziza clinging to Gimli as if he might suffer a similar fate to Frerin or Thorin if they let him go. Liddy was in tears and probably feeling guilty for having even an unintentional role in Thrain’s plans.

            But it was an auburn-haired boy she was looking for if she was honest.

            She turned and there was Ori, tucked under one of Dwalin’s strong arms and one hand held by Dwalin while Balin held the other. Dis smiled a bit at the scene; Ori was well protected by the Fundinson brothers. But she needed something that only Ori could give her.

            She walked over and all three men turned to look at her.

            “How are you?” Dis asked, but already knew Ori was feeling safe.

            “Okay,” Ori said then cleared his throat as Dwalin leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Ori’s head.

            Dis hated to push but this couldn’t wait. “Ori,” Dis took a breath to calm herself. “I need your phone.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_THORIN'S FLAT_ **

 

 

            He was sure he would be alright. He was sure he could handle them all once he had calmed from the last letter. But Thorin was so terribly wrong.

            He sat now on his couch, not bothered by or caring about the dark. He had turned on the gallery light when he came in, and there was a dim glow coming from the light over the cooker in the kitchen, but that was it. By the time the room had darkened with the setting of the sun, he was too far gone to care.

            The boxes of letters now sat open on the coffee table before him. His plan was to read them, one by one, in order and put them back neatly and organized so that they wouldn’t be ruined, but such plans didn’t last long. The first letter has been written the very day he had left Brighton and its first line did him in.

 

            _“It has only been a few hours, and already I feel empty without you.”_

 

            Thorin continued reading and his heart steadily grew heavier.

 

            _“The stars are out and I wonder, are you somewhere looking at the same ones I am and wishing for the same things?”_

_“I must confess, I’m listening to Sade and I can only think of you.”_

_“I’m tired but the bed seems so big and cold without you there.”_

_“I miss you so much."_

_“I love you.”_

 

            Thorin decided that it maybe it was time for a drink after that first one. Just a small one, he told himself. That was three doubles ago and now the coffee table was littered with pages and pages of letters. Yes, they were all different but there was one thing about them that never changed; Bilbo’s love for him had never wavered.

            Not like Thorin.

            Moving through the letters in order had only served to highlight, quite quickly, what Bilbo had gone through. At first, the letters talked of beautiful, if bittersweet, moments and thoughts. Bilbo going on and on about the new flat and hoping Thorin would like it when he came home, talking about going to the store and complaining about the prices in London in a rather adorable, snarky way; Thorin laughed a few times at those. But as the letters moved closer and closer to the end of that August and Bilbo had not heard from Thorin, the letters slowly began to sound desperate.

_“I’m worried; are you on a long mission and can’t write?”_

_“I wish I knew if you were safe or not. It’s not knowing that’s the worst.”_

_“I pray you are safe.”_

_“I’m getting scared.”_

_“Oh, God, please let me know if you’re alright. Please!”_

_“I thought about contacting your parents.”_

_“The military won’t give me any information.”_

_“I’m calling an old friend who works for the Ministry of Defense. Maybe Bofur can help me.”_

Thorin looked at the date on the last addressed letter, Wednesday, September 15th, 2010. Picking up the first unaddressed letter and looked at the date, Friday, September 17th, 2010. A one day gap—the _only_ gap—in all the letters. Thorin knew that he had been sent home, injured just three and half weeks into his deployment, which meant that Bilbo had been completely ignorant of Thorin’s condition for almost another three weeks.

            Thrain and Fris, neither of them, had thought to contact Bilbo and let him know. But of course not, Thrain was still plotting on how to get rid of Bilbo and how to lie to Thorin.

            That was when Thorin decided he needed that third double.

            All the unaddressed letters spoke of Bilbo’s feeling guilty that he hadn’t known—as if it had been his fault. Thorin hurt to think that already Bilbo was blaming himself. The letters continued on as before, speaking of Bilbo’s love, his wishes, his promises to help Thorin through whatever therapy he would need, reassurances that Bilbo would love him no matter what—those lines had been the most difficult to read.

            But the letters also spoke openly about meeting with Thrain in the evenings and getting reports of Thorin’s condition—the lies they were really. Bilbo went on to say how much of a ‘comfort’ it was to have Thrain to talk to and how his father was nothing that Bilbo had expected. Bilbo even apologized to Thorin for thinking that Thrain would be this terrible person but how Bilbo found him very personable.

            Bilbo had been so ignorant of the contempt that Thrain actually held for him.

            Finally, Thorin reread the final letter from Bilbo and his heart broke all over again. But he couldn’t stop reading it. To the very bitter end, Bilbo had held on to hope that Thorin would come back to him, only to have it end with Thorin’s ‘death.’ Once again, Thorin realized that Bilbo had been right downstairs in the hospital, mourning and still loving him, while at the same time that he was upstairs hating Bilbo for his abandonment.

            But it wasn’t Bilbo that had abandoned the dream.

            Thorin was filled with guilt. Doctor Grey had been right; Thorin was as much or more so, to blame as Thorin had blamed Bilbo. Thorin had taken the letter his father had given him and, in his fears, believed it wholeheartedly and cursed and yelled and blamed Bilbo until the love he felt was buried beneath the fire and ashes of his hatred. And now, right before him was the evidence that it had been quite the opposite; it was all Thorin’s fault.

            Thorin barely registered the sound of his front door being unlocked or the gentle click of heels on the polished floor. Yet he knew who it was. Only two people had keys to his flat; Dwalin and Dis, and Dwalin had his own love to look after.

            “Thorin,” Dis said quietly, just above a whisper.

            Thorin had no need to explain anything at this point; Dis knew it all. “He never gave up,” Thorin said thickly. “He loved me steadily, right to the end, and he never gave up.”

            “Thorin, I’ve—”

            “It’s all my fault, Dis.”

            “What’s your fault?”

            “All of it.

            “All of what, Thorin?”

            “I’m the one that abandoned him,” Thorin said as he struggled to hold back his tears. “I’m at fault. I’m to blame for everything.”

            There came a reply to that, but not from Dis. “That’s not true!”

            Thorin looked up, the glass wall of windows in front of him acting like mirrors in the darkened flat, and saw that as Dis stood still in the hall behind him, Bilbo stepped out from behind her and slowly made his way towards him. Like a dream, Thorin watched in the reflective window as Bilbo came around and settled near him on the couch. But Thorin could not turn and face him; he was too ashamed. Thorin turned his gaze down to his own lap and waited to see if the dream would end.

            They sat in silence for several long seconds, before Bilbo broke it.

            “I see you finally got my letters,” Bilbo quipped gently, obviously trying to draw Thorin out.

            But Thorin felt too guilty to do anything other than simply nod and they lapsed into silence once more before Bilbo tried a more direct approach.

            “Dis told me what happened,” Bilbo said softly.

            Thorin didn’t respond to that; what was there to say?

            “She explained all that your father had done,” Bilbo whispered.

            Thorin still couldn’t speak or move, even when he felt soft fingers ghost over the scar on his face but he was powerless not to lean into Bilbo’s touch. Thorin couldn’t look; he didn’t deserve to look at Bilbo.

            “What she couldn’t tell me,” Bilbo said without malice, "was why.  Why didn’t you come to me?”

            Thorin had an answer to that one. “Because I'm a coward.”

            Bilbo shook his head.  “You have never been, nor are you now, a coward.”

            “I was. I was afraid. I was weak.”

            “Fear doesn’t come from weakness, fear comes from pain.”

            It was a good excuse but it wasn’t really the truth. “It wasn’t because of pain that I had fear.”

            “Then what was it?” Bilbo asked gently.

            Thorin took a ragged breath, “I am not the same man I was.”

            Bilbo caressed Thorin’s face. “You’re still the same man to me.”

            Thorin shook his head; Bilbo didn’t understand. “There are more scars than just my face.” Thorin slowly reached down and pulled up his right pants leg and gave Bilbo a full view of the prosthetic. But as he continued to stare at his lap, Thorin watched as Bilbo’s free hand moved to come to rest on the top covering of the prosthetic.

            “Did you really think that this would change how I felt?”

            Thorin was losing his battle and a fat tear fell as he nodded his head.

            “Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo said, his own voice starting to sound thick. “What in the world could make you think that?” Again, the question held no malice or accusation but it was an honest question that Thorin could only show Bilbo the answer to.

            Thorin reached up and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He let Bilbo see the tracheostomy scar at this throat and felt the hand that Bilbo had on his face slide down and touch it. Thorin continued until his shirt was completely unbuttoned and then moved it so that Bilbo could now see the multiple scars on his left shoulder from shrapnel and once again, Bilbo’s hand moved to touch those scars as well.

            “These scars could not change how I feel,” Bilbo said softly. “They’re not simply evidence of what you went through, but testaments that you survived. I could never view them as anything less than that.”

            Thorin shook his head again; Bilbo still didn’t understand.

            There was more.

            For the first time since hospital, Thorin was going to uncover the one scar he never showed and never mentioned. Thorin pulled hard on the collar of his sleeveless undershirt until his chest was exposed and there was the heart tattoo, except now it was bisected by a jagged scar that ripped the heart in two.

            Bilbo’s hand came down to trace over the scar, but that wasn’t what caught Bilbo’s eye.

            “You had my name put on it,” Bilbo said in tones of sweet surprise. 

            Thorin nodded. “When I got back to London, I had time before I left to have your name added. I knew that you were the one, Bilbo, and I didn’t want to go away, and not have something of you with me; even if it was just your name.”

            “And let me guess,” Bilbo asked. “When you woke in hospital and you saw that scar—”

            “I thought it was a sign that it was all over,” Thorin confessed. “That you would never accept me as a cripple.”

            Thorin almost felt Bilbo stiffen. “Don’t you _ever_ use the word in my presence again,” Bilbo stated firmly.

            Thorin just stilled and something like hope blossomed inside him.

            “And you read the sign wrong, my love.” Bilbo pulled Thorin closer and pressed his cheek to Thorin’s so that he could whisper into Thorin’s ear. “Even with that scar across the heart, you still see my name. Because no scar, no matter how grievous, could ever change the fact it’s my heart you own. _‘My true love hath my heart.’_ ”

            “And I have his,” Thorin choked out. But Thorin’s mind picked up something else. “Will you say it again?”

            “My true love hath—”

            “No,” Thorin insisted. “Say _it_ again.”

            Thorin could feel Bilbo smile against his cheek he as finally understood Thorin’s request.

            “My love,” Bilbo almost cooed in Thorin’s ear.

            They pulled back and Thorin finally looked at Bilbo who had tearstains on his cheeks but was bestowing Thorin with the sweetest smile.

            “Do you think,” Thorin said, trying to keep it together, “you could truly love me again?”

            Bilbo shook his head and huffed out a little laugh. “Thorin, I never stopped loving you to begin with.”

            At that, the floodgates opened and Thorin could no longer hold back his tears nor refrain from touching; he wrapped his arms around Bilbo and gathered him up. His tears quickly became uncontrollable and turned to sobs as Bilbo cradled Thorin’s head against his chest and Thorin could hear Bilbo’s heart beating along with his own.

            “Let it go, sweetheart,” Bilbo said. “Let it all go.” Thorin clung tighter as the tears continued. “You’re safe, Thorin. Let it go.”

            Thorin had the vaguest feeling of falling but Bilbo was there and loved him, what did he care about anything else?

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

           

            Dis wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting in the gallery. When Bilbo started speaking, she knew she shouldn’t stay in the living room, but she didn’t want to leave. What if her idea didn’t work out? What if Thorin didn’t want Bilbo there? What if what they had was irrevocably broken by her father’s lies and conspiracy? It hadn’t taken her long to realize that the real question she should've asked herself was, why did she worry in the first place.

            Her instincts had paid off. Thorin was so upset, so hurt, so broken, but at each turn, Bilbo had responded softly, gently and was clearly guiding Thorin through the jagged emotions that had been tearing at him since the war. Yes, her heart broke hearing Thorin finally surrender and she couldn’t help but cry herself, but Bilbo’s tender urges to let it all go was comforting. She was positive that Thorin felt the same.

            That seemed ages ago; she hadn’t wanted to disturb them. Now, however, she was acutely aware of the silence. There wasn’t a single sound from the living room.

            She made her way down the small hall. The living room was still bathed in semi-darkness. The light behind her and the light from the kitchen the only illumination, yet she could see clearly enough; no one sitting on the couch.

            _Where are they?_ She thought. Dis turned her head and looked, but Thorin and Bilbo weren’t in the kitchen. She turned the other way and looked in the library, but that was completely dark.

            It was only as she got closer to the couch that she saw them, lying together, their eyes closed, Bilbo on his back, Thorin with his head on Bilbo’s chest and his arms wrapped tightly around Bilbo’s waist. Bilbo had one arm around Thorin’s shoulders while his free hand was slowly and gently carding through Thorin’s hair.

            Dis quickly noted that the near constant scowl that Thorin wore was gone. Gone too was the tightness around his eyes and his mouth was slightly open. Thorin looked very peaceful, as did Bilbo.

            As she got closer, Dis also found that all was not totally silent; Bilbo was humming. She couldn’t quite figure out the tune at first. It was slow, but as she got closer, she recognized the piece; it was a simplified version of _The Flower Duet_ from the opera Lakme.

            It was at that same moment that she realized Bilbo had opened his eyes and was smiling at her as he continued to hum and run his fingers through her brother’s hair.

            “Are you alright?” Dis whispered.

            Bilbo smiled and nodded, not stopping his tune.

            “Do you need me to stay?” Dis didn’t think so but she didn’t want to just leave either.

            “No,” Bilbo whispered back. “I can always get a taxi home if I need to.”

            “You’re not fucking going anywhere,” Thorin growled out softly, clearly not asleep.

            Bilbo and Dis both bit their lips to keep from giggling.

            “I guess I won’t need that taxi, after all,” Bilbo said quietly to Dis. “Thank you for bringing me.”

            Thorin opened his eyes and turned to look at his sister. “Yes. Thank you, Dis.”

            Dis almost cried at the tender look in Thorin’s eyes. “It was the least I could do, darling.”

            Thorin nodded, laid his head back down on Bilbo’s chest and closed his eyes.

            “Take good care of him,” Dis had meant it for Bilbo but it was Thorin that answered.

            “I will; I promise.”

            Bilbo smiled and gave Dis a wink.

            Dis knew when she was no longer needed, so she quietly and discreetly let herself out. She had an odd feeling running through her that she couldn’t place. Was it happiness? Was it giddiness? Was she just plain tired? She felt them all but they alone weren’t the answer. Whatever it was, it made her feel light and slightly carefree. She was halfway home when it hit her; for the first time in three years, she no longer felt worried for Thorin.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO888888OOOOOooooo-----

           

            He had no clue of the time. He was warm and comfortable, perfectly contented if he were asked; Bilbo had no desire to move. Yet move they must. Regardless of the actual time, he knew it was getting late and the last thing he thought they needed was to sleep on the couch all night long; nothing ruined a wondrous night like waking stiff and sore the next morning.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo whispered.

            Thorin merely hummed in response, which made Bilbo smile.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo tried again, “We need to get up.”

            Thorin woke immediately and half rose off Bilbo, looking concerned. “Am I hurting you?”

            Bilbo gave Thorin a small smile. “No; you’re not hurting me. I just think we’d be better off going to bed.”

            Thorin nodded as he sat up and helped Bilbo up as well.

            “Oh, no,” Thorin said.

            “What’s the matter?” Bilbo asked.

            “All my letters,” Thorin said dishearteningly, looking at all the scattered pages and envelopes on the coffee table.

            “Don’t worry,” Bilbo said. “You can clear them away tomorrow unless you want to keep them.”

            “Of course I want to keep them,” Thorin said as if any other idea was unthinkable.

            “Well,” Bilbo shrugged, “if that’s what you want. But I figured you had the real thing now.” Bilbo huffed out a little laugh, but Thorin wasn’t laughing.

            “But, they’re from you,” Thorin said rather strained. “I want them and I meant to keep them in order, but I got caught up reading and then I started drinking and I wasn’t watching what I was doing, and—”

            “All right, all right,” Bilbo said, taking one of Thorin’s hands and running one of his own over Thorin’s back in circles. It hurt to hear Thorin sounding so distressed. “They’ll keep until tomorrow. And if you notice, I dated each page so putting them back together will be easy.”

            Thorin nodded in response and his breathing eased.

            “Come on,” Bilbo stood and gently tugged on Thorin’s hand, which he still had hold of.

            Thorin gave in and stood. However, as they made their way to the gallery, Bilbo had to bring up a little issue.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo said, bring them both to a halt and Thorin turned a questioning look towards Bilbo. “I hadn’t planned on staying.” Bilbo gave a little laugh but added quickly on seeing Thorin swallow thickly. “I mean, I came woefully … unprepared. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra toothbrush around?”

            Thorin released the breath he had been holding. “I’m sure there are extra in one of the guest rooms.”

            “And that is …” Bilbo inquired.

            “That way,” Thorin nodded to the left. “First opening on the right.”

            “Right,” Bilbo said with a smile and released Thorin’s hand to head off.

            “Bilbo.”

            “Yes?” Bilbo turned back at Thorin’s call.

            “You aren’t … staying … in the guest rooms.” It was half a question and half a command.

            “Okay,” Bilbo was glad he didn’t have to actually ask about that, but then he wasn’t going to assume anything.

            “The master bedroom is—”

            “I’ll find you,” Bilbo said, cutting Thorin off. Thorin nodded but Bilbo caught the little half smile on Thorin’s face as he walked in the opposite direction.

            In the second guest bathroom, Bilbo found the stash of extras and pulled out a toothbrush and paste as well as a washcloth and towel. He washed his face and brushed his teeth and then cleaned up after himself.

            As he was heading out, his comment of earlier hit him; _‘I’ll find you’_ he had told Thorin. Here now with Thorin and heading to bed, Bilbo realized how much that small comment really meant. Catching his reflection in the mirror, Bilbo made a vow to himself; never again would he allow another being to come between Thorin and himself. Only death could separate them.

            And even then, Bilbo swore that he wouldn’t let that stop him either.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Thorin sat on the edge of the bed, worried.

            He felt a little queasy. At first, Thorin thought he’d just got up too quickly; should have risen slowly. Until he reminded himself that, actually, he hadn’t rushed getting up. Then he figured it was from too much scotch; that’s what one gets for drinking on an empty stomach. He vowed to get rid the alcohol tomorrow; after he got his letters back in order.   Lastly, he just told himself he was just tired and that Bilbo had been completely correct; they needed to actually go to bed and sleep.

            It was after he had brushed his teeth and was changing for bed that it hit him; he wasn’t just queasy. He was scared.

            Never had he removed the prosthetic in front of anyone. And in truth, few had even ever seen him without it. His parents, his sister, Dwalin and of course, the medical professionals; doctors, nurses, and the technicians that fitted him for it; however, no one else outside that circle had seen. His nephews and brother-in-law had never seen him without it either. And he hadn’t had a lover since losing his leg; of course, that was more because of his love of Bilbo, not his leg.

            But now, he was not only going to have to show it fully, he was going to have to remove it in front of someone else, and not just anyone, but Bilbo.

            What if Bilbo was disgusted? What if he decided that it really was too much? What if that letter his father forged was actually prophetic and Bilbo left—

            “All done,” Bilbo said brightly, coming into the master bedroom. He was wearing his boxers and undershirt but that was all. Thorin couldn’t help but smile; Bilbo was too damned cute for his own good.

            “Did you find everything you needed?” Thorin asked, trying to sound normal.

            “Absolutely,” Bilbo replied. “I left my clothes in the smaller guest room. I figured it would be rude to clutter your flat the first night I’m in it!” Bilbo said the last with mock indignation and once again, Thorin couldn’t help but smile.

            “You can clutter it all you want,” Thorin said. _You could stay here forever and do as you please. Just don’t leave. Don’t leave me._

            Bilbo walked over, stood in front of Thorin and once again began running his fingers thought Thorin’s hair. “It’s rather dangerous,” Bilbo said softly, “to give me that much carte blanche to do as I please.” Bilbo released a little giggle at that and Thorin was so taken.

            Thorin reached out, wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist and pulled Bilbo towards him, laying his head on Bilbo’s chest. Thorin breathed in Bilbo’s scent and he was taken back to another time and place when he had Bilbo in his arms and there was nothing else in the world. He so wanted that again.

            Thorin felt Bilbo lean down and press his cheek against Thorin’s temple. “Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, “what’s wrong?”

            Thorin shook his head, he didn’t want to say. “Nothing, love.”

            Bilbo pulled away just enough to hook Thorin’s chin and tilt his head so they could look at each other. “I may not have been with you for three years, Thorin, but don’t think for a second I can’t tell when something’s bothering you.”

            Thorin took a deep breath. He should answer something, anything. “I … I have to get ready … for bed.”

            Bilbo looked puzzled for just a moment but then it was gone. Thorin watched Bilbo glance down and felt the tips of Bilbo’s fingers brush against right thigh. Bilbo knew and nodded. “Okay.” Bilbo stepped back and while Thorin felt the loss of Bilbo’s warmth, part of him was actually grateful that Bilbo didn’t assume that Thorin needed help.

            Taking a few breaths and steeling himself, Thorin first rolled up his pants leg and then removed the leg. Once that was done, he was able to remove his pants and he tossed them on the chair by the bed. While removing the socks was easy, the moment of truth had come and he had to remove the liner with the pin; it was the last piece covering his stump. There was no way around it, Bilbo was right there and he had to take the liner off. Once again, a last deep breath and Thorin slid off the silicone liner.

            “Oh my goodness,” Bilbo said.

            Thorin froze and waited; waited for the comments, the pity, and maybe even disgust. He was waiting for the hammer blow.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo asked. “Did you know your prosthetic’s broken?”

            Thorin released his breath. “What?”

            “Here, look,” Bilbo bent down and pointed to back of Thorin’s prosthetic. “It’s small, but there’s a crack right here.”

            _Holy shit._ Thorin hadn’t even noticed it. “I didn’t know.”

            “Well, that can’t be good,” Bilbo said matter-of-factly. “We’ll have to contact the company first thing tomorrow. You can’t keep using a broken leg.”

            Thorin could only stare at Bilbo.

            “What?” Bilbo said, perplexed.

            Thorin wasn’t sure what amazed him more, the fact that Bilbo really didn’t seem to care about his leg, or that Bilbo had used the word _‘We’ll.’_

_We will._

            _We._

            The two of them together.

            “Nothing,” was all Thorin could get out at that moment, but he couldn’t stop a smile forming, which was mirrored a moment later on Bilbo’s face.

            “Come,” Bilbo gave Thorin’s hand a slight tug. “Time for bed.”

            Bilbo scooted around to the other side and Thorin moved to get under the covers. “Bilbo,” Thorin asked, “Do you mind if I put the radio on?” Thorin had come to hate sleeping in the silent dark; it brought back memories of dark nights in the hospital alone.

            “Not at all,” Bilbo answered.

            Thorin shrugged. “I find it very soothing.” Bilbo nodded in agreement.

            Thorin switched on the radio, but they both froze as a very loud, _Fuller’s London Pride_ commercial blared out of the speakers.

            “And nothing says 'soothing' like an ale commercial,” Bilbo quipped.

            “Dwalin would think so,” Thorin said dryly.

            There was a tiny pause, and then they both burst into laughter at that and Thorin felt good. It was not only good to laugh himself, but his heart beat faster to hear Bilbo’s bright, beautiful laugh. God, how he had missed that sound!

            Thorin turned off the light and the room was only illuminated now but the dim light of the clock and what little light from the city’s landscape that came through the uncurtained window.

            Thorin rolled over and found that Bilbo was laying there, facing him. He couldn’t help himself and Thorin reached out and ran the back of his hand over Bilbo smooth cheek.

            “So beautiful,” Thorin whispered. Had he meant to say it out loud?

            “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Bibo said, as he leaned into Thorin’s touch.

            The fates had a funny way of bringing things together, and at that moment a slow piano played on the radio and [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhRTUbv5J_Q) could not have been more touching or appropriate.

 

            _At last_

_My love has come along_

_My lonely days are over_

_And life is like a song_

Staring into Bilbo’s eyes and feeling him near, so beautiful and pure in Thorin’s eyes, Thorin breath hitched and he was suddenly overcome.

            “Thorin?” Bilbo said concerned.

           Thorin shook his head. “This is a dream,” Thorin choked out. “It’s all a dream and I’ll wake up in the morning and, once again, you won’t be here.”

            “No, Thorin,” Bilbo countered. “This is no dream, and come the morning I will _still_ be here.”

            “It’s too good,” Thorin persisted. “It just can’t be real.” Thorin couldn’t stop now, it was too much. He closed his eyes, after everything that had happened, Thorin felt he didn’t deserve to be this happy.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo whispered as he pulled them closer. When Thorin didn’t respond, Bilbo tried again. “Thorin. Look at me.”

            Thorin did and looked into the hazel-green eyes that held Thorin’s whole world.

            “Kiss me,” Bilbo urged.

            Thorin didn’t resist and allowed Bilbo to slowly bring their lips together. At first, there was just the warmth of Bilbo’s lips brushing his. So soft and tender.

            “Kiss me,” Bilbo whispered against Thorin’s lips. “And know that I’m real.”

            There was a small surge forward on both their parts and in that instant, the years dropped away, the world faded and there was only Bilbo. Just like the first time, the kiss reached into Thorin’s soul, pulling him out of himself.

            But his tears wouldn’t be contained, and Thorin released them. Bilbo pulled him closer and as their kiss deepened, yet Thorin couldn’t tell Bilbo that he cried not because of pain or the wounds of the past, not because of the years they had lost or the lies told by Thrain, nor even because of fear or doubt. No, Thorin cried because after three long, arduous years, it was only now, in Bilbo’s arms that Thorin felt he had finally come home.

  
            _And here we are in heaven_

_for you are mine..._

_  
At last_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that don't remember - The Flower Duet from the opera Lakme, was the song that was playing on the train when Bilbo and Thorin met. It was the song that brought them together.
> 
> \-------------------
> 
> IF ANYONE IS EVEN REMOTELY INTERESTED - THE VERSION OF "AT LAST' USED IN THIS FIC, IS THE ONE DONE BY CYNDI LAUPER.  
> (I do love the originial, but Cyndi's has the simple piano accompaniment that I thought fit the scene better).


	18. THURSDAY to MONDAY (AM) - The Gathering Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one could know what was coming ...

* * *

 

 

            Dis couldn’t have known what the coming Monday would bring; certainly not that morning after Thorin’s party.

 

            Thursday dawned without a clue of the coming disquiet.

            For the first time in ages Dis had slept through the night and slept well. She woke to the warm sunshine of a summer morning streaming through the bedroom window. Her back didn’t hurt, her head wasn’t already heavy with worry, and she felt light and content. The bed was cozy and comfortable and she could just make out the laughter of her youngest son floating upstairs to tickle her ear. She stretched in a cat-like, languid way before getting up and heading down to her family. The world was beautiful.

            It should’ve been her first warning sign.

            Naturally, the boys had been more than curious as to why they hadn’t been allowed to Uncle Thorin’s birthday party. _Was something wrong? What happened? Was everything okay? Was Uncle Thorin okay? Did this have something to do with Granddad and Uncle Thorin? Was there a fight? Who won? Who lost? Did they at least have cake?_ Her head was spinning with the questions and she hadn’t even had her first cup of coffee yet! She and Vili assured them that they would know later, but it was too early in the day and they would all talk about it when she got home. After much groaning and complaining and re-asking all their questions, only slightly rephrased, the boys finally knew that they would get no more from their parents.

            To themselves, Dis and Vili breathed a sigh of relief—for now. They would talk and decide what exactly to tell the boys, but that was later. At the moment, Dis needed to get going.

            It had been Dis’ hope that once at work, her day would normalize and she could mull over the talk she and her husband would have that night. She was too blissful over Thorin and Bilbo to remember that the word _‘normal’_ and her family really shouldn’t be used in the same sentence.    

            What made Dis chuckle, was how clueless most of her family was. Not even twelve hours after she had left Thorin’s flat and already the question, _‘Have you heard from Thorin?’_ been asked of her. Of course her answer was, _‘No’._ Why in the world would she—or anyone for that matter—hear from Thorin the morning after his reconciliation with Bilbo?   She suspected that Thorin had other, more pleasurable, things to do than chit-chat with his sister and cousins.

            And speaking of other things, there was plenty going on in the family itself.

            Dwalin was running behind Thursday morning because he had been up late with Ori. Again, not surprising seeing how upset the young artist had been. Both Dwalin and Ori had gone with Dis to meet up with Bilbo after she called him; Ori was almost as upset hearing the story for a second time, as Bilbo had been hearing the truth for the first.

            Dis got a call from her mother somewhere around ten Thursday morning. Dis hadn’t wanted to take the call at first. Despite Fris’ peripheral involvement in the whole nasty business, Dis didn’t feel that her mother was completely blameless; Fris had stood aside, knowing the truth, and had allowed it to happen. Regardless of the reasons, her mother would have to own up to that and, in Dis’ mind, needed to show some true repentance before Dis could even begin to consider forgiving. But she took the call and, surprisingly, found out that Fris had left home the night before and moved in with Uncle Groin and Aunt Ingrid; she was divorcing Thrain. Dis was—well, not happy per se, but she was proud of her mother for making a decision and seeing it through. And Dis had to admit, that for the first time in a very, very long time, her mother sounded strong; not perfect, but better. Dis let her know that she would stand by whatever Fris decided, but for the time being it was best if they not see each other. Fris stated she understood and began to apologize, before Dis gently cut her off - it was not the time but maybe they could talk on Sunday. It wasn’t a pleasurable conversation all around, but Dis felt better and she felt that Fris was on her way to being better. She hoped, at least.

            Shortly after speaking with her mother, Dis found that both Fundin and Groin had cancelled all their schedule meetings, locked themselves away in Uncle Fundin’s office and had refused to be disturbed by anyone, for any reason. Yet, their secretaries had been seen carrying files, folders and boxes of records into Uncle Fundin’s office all day and both women stated that they were ordered not to speak to anyone about them—they weren’t allowed to even state whose files they were. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were up to something big, but for the life of her, she couldn’t put her finger on it.

            Thrain had not come back into offices of Durin & Sons at all. Dis didn’t give a damn where he was or what he was doing, but she suspected that he was holed up somewhere; mostly likely his home office. Given everything that had happened she further suspected that her father was rallying some kind of support, maybe calling in favors. The Lord knew, he needed allies; her mother was gone, her uncles were up to something without Thrain, and obviously Thorin would lend no support to his father, nor would Dis, for that matter. Thrain had to be feeling the pressure of a man abandoned. As far as Dis was concerned, that was a good thing for him to feel.

            Still, there was a small part in Dis that was disappointed Thrain hadn’t come into the offices; she would have loved to have had a snarling match with her father, where everyone and their brother at the company could be witness. She knew that was just her anger and disgust talking, but the fantasy was rather—enjoyable.

            The real problem came Thursday night.

            First order of business; tell Vili—she had just been too tired to say much to him Wednesday night, only giving her husband hints and the promise to tell it all to him the next day. To Vili’s credit, he asked no questions until the tale was told and his first comment was, “I don’t want Thrain near the boys ever again, Dis.” Dis smiled—and she would admit, a little sadly—that she agreed; she had already come to the same conclusion. She knew it was right, but it still made her sad. With all that he was and all he had done, he was still the boy’s Granddad. But her sadness wasn’t for Thrain; it was for her sons, who would now have to continue on without a grandfather.

            When they sat down together and told the boys, they listened very well; even Kili asked few questions and seemed to understand. Naturally, she and Vili had talked before on exactly what to tell them. They left out Thrain’s more colourful comments and insults, and concentrated on telling the basics; Uncle Thorin loved someone very much and his name was Bilbo Baggins, Granddad had lied and deceived Uncle Thorin and Mister Baggins, had done so deliberately, and with the idea of not only keeping the two apart, but of forcing Uncle Thorin to marry a woman because Granddad didn’t like the fact that Uncle Thorin was gay. Dis also told the boys about their Uncle Frerin, but again, it was told factually. They decided not to say anything, for the moment, regarding Gran and Granddad’s impending divorce; as distasteful as the idea was, there was always the chance that Fris would forgive Thrain and return.

            When it was over, Kili seemed—if Dis had to put a word to it—relieved, at Thrain’s absence from his life and only seemed concerned with whether Uncle Thorin was alright or not. Dis carefully worded her answer, stating that Uncle Thorin and Mister Baggins were working a great many things out, but Kili didn’t need to worry. Of course, Kili wanted desperately to call Thorin and hear for himself, but Dis talked her youngest into waiting a few days; give Uncle Thorin some space.

            Fili, on the other hand, didn’t take it as well.   He’d sat quietly throughout and barely looked at anyone during the whole discussion. Now, at the end, the blond teenager sat with his arms crossed over his chest and seemed to be glaring the carpet into submission. It was no secret that Fili had adored and admired his Granddad, so Dis could only surmise that Fili now realized that his hero was as far from that title as he could be. Vili stayed to talk with Fili alone, while Dis escorted Kili to bed.

            “Is Uncle Thorin going to be okay?” Kili asked again quietly as Dis sat on his bed next to him.

            “I believe he is, darling,” Dis couldn’t help but be touched by Kili’s continued fretting over his uncle.

            “What’s Mister Boggins like?” Kili inquired, his voice betraying his curiosity.

            “It’s Baggins, with an ‘A’, and he seems very nice,” Dis answered with a smile. “I only met him once and that was just last night.”

            “Do you think they’ll get married?” Kili seemed quite happy with the idea.

            “I don’t know,” Dis conceded. _If what I saw last night was any indication, I wouldn’t doubt it._ “That'll be for them to tell _us_ , not us to ask _them_.”

            Kili seemed to understand Dis’ meaning, if the sigh and disappointed nod was any sign. “Can we call them on Sunday?”

            Dis finally did laugh out loud. “We’ll see, love.”

            “I’m glad Uncle Thorin won’t be alone anymore,” Kili stated as he lifted his covers and lay down.

            “Are you, sweetheart?” Dis asked, standing up and tucking the covers around her son. “I’m sure Uncle Thorin will be pleased to hear that.”

            Kili nodded and yawned before answer. “He’s been sad for so long.  I guess he's been sad about Mister Boggins.  He should be happy.”

            Dis wasn’t sure her heart could take much more as she leaned down and placed a kiss on Kili’s cheek. “Good night, sweetie.”

            “G’night, mummy,” Kili said sleepily.

            Dis turned off the light and closed Kili’s door, almost running into Fili as she turned in the hallway.   “Fili. Off to bed?”

            Fili nodded, not meeting Dis’ eyes.

            “Are you alright?” Dis asked quietly.

            Fili nodded again. “Tired.”

            Dis decided to let the lie go. She kissed a cheek and sent him on his way. Going back to the living room, she found her husband sitting in a chair, staring into nothing but wearing a rather dark look on his face. She only stood and watched as he raised a glass of something and took a deep drink.

            “What’s wrong?” Dis asked. Vili almost never drank; the last time was New Year’s Eve and even then he had only managed half a glass of white wine.

            “Fili’s going through far more than we realized,” Vili said, his voice sounding hollow and he took another drink.

            “We figured it would be harder on him,” Dis stated, but had a strange feeling that wasn’t exactly what Vili was talking about.

            Vili finally looked at his wife and there was an anger in his eyes Dis had never seen there before. “But we didn’t know just how much Fili was damaged.”

            “Damaged?”

            “Did you know that Fili has been uncomfortable around Thorin for a long while now?”

            “I’ve noticed he was stand-offish, but I chalked it up to being a teenager.”

            Vili shook his head. “Do you know what your father has been telling him?”

            Dis was starting to feel a cold tingle move up her arms and back.

            “Thrain,” Vili continued, “has been warning Fili that he should be careful, that he should be wary of Thorin, because _‘queer men like to recruit young boys like him’_ and insinuating that Thorin would … _seduce him_ , to put it mildly, if he let Thorin touch him.”

            Dis slow sank onto the couch; lest she fall down. She could feel the bile rise up to her throat and feared, truly, that she would be sick.

            “Fili didn’t say,” Vili went on, “if Thrain had said anything about Dwalin, but from what you told me of his comments last night to Dwalin and Ori, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

            Dis was sure she didn’t wanted to hear anymore, but there was more.

            “Thrain also warned Fili,” Vili added, “that he should watch out for Kili, because Thrain thought that Thorin had already gotten to Kili and that Kili might try something.”

            Dis had gone numb, her mind was blank. It took all her effort to ask, “How did we not see this?!”

            Vili huffed out a sigh. “What sick mind would ever have dreamed that his grandfather would use him as a pawn against his uncle, or turn him against his own brother? How could we have known that?”

            Dis wasn’t so sure; she should have known. She should have done something. “How’s Fili feeling?”

            “He’s confused and angry,” Vili answered, almost dazed. “He doesn’t want to believe that Thrain used him, lied to him, yet he’s struggling to equate the Thorin that Thrain warned of and the Uncle he knows now has been abused. But he says he doesn’t think we’re lying, but he doesn’t know and … and he’s … he’s been brainwashed! And I don’t … I don’t know if I can be dispassionate and separate my training from my paternal instinct. I’m … I’m lost as to how to reach him.”

            Dis was sharing her husband’s sense of being lost.

            “I think,” Vili said quietly, “it might be a good idea to contact Doctor Grey and find out if he is willing to see Fili.”

            Dis nodded in agreement, but oh how it hurt; to realize that the very thing she had worried over and tried so hard to protect her sons from—the destructive upbringing her brothers had suffered at her father’s hands—had already come to pass.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Friday dawned much the same as Thursday. Fris was still staying with Ingrid and Groin and had apparently already hired a top divorce attorney. Fundin and Groin, once again, locked themselves away with more files were being brought to them. No one had heard from Thorin, and Dwalin came in late—neither of which surprised Dis in the least.

            Thrain still hadn’t made any appearance, nor had anyone from the office heard from him, but at the moment, Dis wasn’t sure how she would react to seeing her father in person.

            Dis’ first real order of ‘business’ was to call Doctor Grey. Dis didn’t get him right away; not shocking—he probably had a great many patients who wished to be seen before the weekend. She left a message and waited. To her relief, however, Grey didn’t keep her waiting long.

            “Ms. Durin,” Grey’s charm and warmth were already a comfort. “Such a pleasure to hear from you.”

            “Thank you, Doctor Grey,” Dis was thankful. “But I’m sorry to say, this isn’t a social call.”

            Grey was instantly serious. “Is Thorin alright?”

            Dis smiled bitterly to herself. “It isn’t my brother I’m calling about.”

            Dis could almost see Grey cocking his head in concern. “What’s wrong, my dear?”

            Dis didn’t waste time and told Grey about Fili, touching on what Thrain had said and done. She held nothing back and by the time she was done, she was once again overwhelmed by her perceived mistakes.

            “Let me start off by saying,” Grey said softly, “how sorry I am that your son and family have to go through this.”

            “Thank you. That’s very kind of you, doctor.”

            “But, I cannot stress enough that you are in no way to blame for Fili’s current state. Do you understand?”

            She knew what the man was saying, she just didn’t agree with it. “I can’t get past this feeling that I’ve failed my children.”

            “That is a natural, albeit completely unsupportable, reaction.”

            “I should have done more, been more watchful, been more alert.”

            “No normal human being would imagine that their father would do such a thing as yours has.”

            “Vili said much the same thing.”

            “I hope you listened to him. He’s right.”

            Dis nodded, forgetting that Grey couldn’t see her.

            “Now, the first thing is to get Fili in. I have an opening on Wednesday morning at ten.”

            “That works.” Dis was already texting Vili with the time.

            “Good. Now, I will also let you know that while you and/or your husband are welcome to bring Fili, I would prefer to meet with him alone for the first several sessions.”

            “Alone?” She hadn’t expected that.

            “I should rephrase; I mean sans parent. I will, of course, have our in-house Psychologist, Arwen Riven, present; she is exceedingly good with troubled children.”

            “I understood your meaning,” Dis countered. “But I don’t understand why—”

            “I want Fili to open up,” Grey explained. “He may not be as honest with a parent in the room as he would be with a stranger who has few ties to his family. Once he is more comfortable, then I will gladly welcome your presence. Of course, if Fili requests or demands you and/or your husband be there from the start, then naturally I will respect his wishes.”

            Dis didn’t necessarily like the idea of Fili being on his own, but she did understand the reasoning behind it and, in the end, knew that she trusted Grey—even with what he had put Thorin through.

            “Very well,” Dis agreed. “We’ll bring Fili Wednesday morning.”

            “Good,” Grey said softly. “I look forward to meeting your son and husband, and seeing you again.”

            “As do I,” Dis answered and meant it.

            “I would ask one other thing,” Grey said firmly. “While I always value and support honesty, I would ask that you not share this latest development with Thorin.”

            “You really think that’s for the best?” Dis didn’t like the idea of lying by omission.

            “I do,” Grey stated. “Fili is in a rather … fragile state, and Thorin, while making great strides, is not much better off. Thorin already blames himself for many of the lies and deceptions caused by your father. It therefore isn’t outside the realm of possibility that Thorin would blame himself for Fili’s situation as well. And Fili, while struggling to come to terms with the manipulation of his grandfather and his conflicting emotions over the revelations, could see Thorin as the cause of all _his_ problems, thus holding Thorin to blame. That could drive them further apart.”

            Dis hadn’t thought about it that way, but she couldn’t argue that point. “Once again, doctor,” Dis replied, “I’ll have to defer to your good judgment.”

            “Believe me, my dear. I take no pleasure in hiding the facts, but I do believe it’s best for the time being; both for Fili and Thorin.”

            “Yes.”

            “And do take my advice and try to let go of your feelings of guilt. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

            Dis couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Am I your patient now too, Doctor Grey?”

            Grey laughed himself. “I seriously doubt you need be my patient. But I must confess I do feel a bit like family at this point.”

            Dis wouldn’t argue. “Thank you again, Doctor Grey.”

            “You’re more than welcome. And please, call me Andy.”

            “I’ll do that.”

            “Good-bye, my dear; and good day.”

            “Good-bye, Andy.”

            They rang off, and while Dis felt a tad better, she once again also felt overwhelmed by the whole thing. How had it happened? She knew that Thrain was getting close to Fili and that Fili had been displaying Thrain-ish tendencies and spouting too many Thrain-like comments. But never in her wildest nightmares would she have thought that her father would whisper such hatred her son’s ear. Of course, after all that was reveled to her at Thorin’s party. . . .

            It was too much. Dis found it hard to breathe suddenly and she knew she had to talk to someone, anyone that would understand. Her first instinct was to call Thorin but that was obviously out of the question. She thought of Dwalin, but that was just as bad—most likely Grey would find out from Fili that Dwalin was, indeed, talked about as Thorin had been. She toyed with the idea of speaking with Ori, but she knew that wouldn’t be fair; she couldn’t ask Ori to keep something like this from Dwalin, and Dwalin wouldn’t keep it from Thorin for love or money. Her uncles were unavailable and Balin would not handle the information well, considering how protective of Dwalin he was.

            That left only one person.

            Dis dialed her Uncle’s home number and while it rang, took deep breaths to calm her voice.

            “Hello,” her Aunt answered on the other end.

            “Hello, Aunt Ingrid,” Dis replied.

            “Dis! How nice! How are you?”

            “Uhm ...” Dis told herself to keep it together. “I’m not sure right now.”

            There was only a few beats before Ingrid asked, “Do you wish to speak to your mother?”

            “Yes,” Dis shot out quietly.

            There was the muffled sound of Ingrid calling for Fris to come to the phone right away, the hurried rush of the phone being passed and then the voice that Dis hadn’t realized she needed so desperately to hear came on the line. “Dis, darling?”

            Dis was losing her battle and she could feel tears welling up. “Mother … I … uhm …”

            “Where are you?” was all Fris needed to ask for Dis’ control to begin to waver.

            “Work,” Dis said tightly.

            “I’ll be right there.”

            “You don’t have to—”

            “Dis: I’m on my way.”

            The phone disconnected and Dis felt childish and small, but she didn’t care; she couldn’t keep this in any longer, she needed to get the whole thing out of her, she needed someone who would listen, who would help her, who would understand it all. Dammit, she needed her mother.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            How the woman managed it all would remain a mystery to Dis.

            Fris arrived not thirty-five minutes later. She had a huge tote from Harrod’s and it was filled with treats—all Dis’ favorites. There were Hobnobs and Terry’s Chocolate Oranges; a box of Godiva white chocolates along with bags of Licorice Allsorts. Of course, Fris clearly knew what was in store and there were two packages of lovely, Irish linen handkerchiefs; ‘Much better than plain old Kleenex,’ Fris had said. There was even a tin of Earl Grey tea and a box of lovely sugar cubes. But the best, and Dis’ all time favorite, was the Walker’s Shortbread.

            Dis wanted to laugh; leave it to her mother to have probably called Harrod’s on her way in, place a massive order, pick it up, and continue to rush over.   And as her mother laid it all out and commented that one should always have their favorites when upset, Dis picked up a piece of shortbread and took a bite. Immediately, Dis was taken back to a memory she has almost forgotten. . . .

 

_“Mummy!” Dis said with scowl on her face and an angry pout. “Thorin and Frerin won’t let me play with them!”_

_“Why-ever not, darling?” Fris asked softly, as she kneeled down to be level with her eight-year old daughter._

_“They say that girls can’t play war,” Dis replied, her scowl deepening._

_“That’s not true, sweetheart.”_

_“They say I don’t have a gun like they do, so I can’t fight!”_

_Fris nodded and seemed to mull that over for a minute. “How about we make some tea and mummy tells you a story.”_

_“I don’t want a story!” Dis declared and stomped her foot for emphasis. “I want to play war with the boys!”_

_“Ah, but this isn’t just any story,” Fris said, standing and putting the kettle on the stove and removing a tin of shortbread from the cupboard. “This is a story of a young lady who didn’t need a gun to fight a war.”_

_Dis was surprised and she was excited. “She didn’t?!”_

_Fris shook her head. “She had other weapons.”_

_“She did?!”_

_Fris nodded. “She was beautiful and charming, and because of that, the men underestimated her.”_

_Dis didn’t fully understand. “What was her name?”_

_“Her real name was Margreet Zelle MacLeod, but she is best remembered by her other name; Mata Hari.”_

_“But Mummy, If she didn’t have a gun, what did she use to fight?!”_

_Fris turned her head and gave her daughter a sly smile. “She used her intelligence.”_

 

            “Darling?”

            Dis shook herself; not having realized she’d closed her eyes in her remembering and as she opened them, her mother came into focus.

            “Mother …” Dis was once again engulfed by guilt and remorse. She felt herself slowly pulled into her mother’s arms.

            “Whatever it is, sweetheart,” Fris whispered, “you needn’t go through it alone. Tell me; let me help you carry the burden.”

            At that, Dis cried her tears and told her mother everything. From what Thrain had said and done, to Fili’s confusion and apparent psychological abuse. The slanderous accusations and lies leveled against Thorin and Kili, to the suspected ones towards Dwalin. Her own feelings of guilt and failure, as well as the worries that she herself had been some of the cause, which led to confessing her actions towards Ori and the ones behind Thorin’s back. It all poured out like a wound finally allowed to bleed freely.

            When it was over, Dis felt empty and rather cathartic. She also felt lighter and that she could actually take a breath without pain.

            “You already apologized to Thorin?” Fris asked gently.

            “Yes.”

            “Good. And have you spoken with Ori? Apologized to him?”

            Dis looked away for a moment. “Not yet. To be honest, I’ve been a little embarrassed by the whole thing.”

            Fris nodded. “Still, you need to apologize properly.”

            “I know.”

            “I’m sure once you explain and take responsibility, he will understand. He seems very intelligent, and doesn’t strike me as someone so petty as to hold a grudge.”

            Dis had to agree with that, although she didn’t say it out loud.

            “And you shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for what Fili is going through.”

            “It’s hard, Mum,” Dis said. “I feel that I should have done more.”

            “I know it sounds hollow,” Fris said quietly, an arm around Dis to hold her close. “And it offers little comfort, but I honestly do know how you’re feeling.”

            Dis turned to look at her mother and nodded. “Yes. I would image you do.”

            Neither had to say why; the reason had been quite on display at Thorin’s party. But that understanding and knowing couldn’t keep Dis from asking a question that begged to asked.

            “Why did you stay with Dad?” Dis wasn’t looking to hurt or even to blame; she knew her mother did that to herself already. But she did want an answer.

            Fris stilled for a minute and seemed to be lost to her own thoughts. She drew a deep breath finally, releasing it slowly. “You don’t know, but I almost left your father.”

            No, Dis hadn’t known. “When was this?”

            “Years ago,” Fris said softly. “Thorin had just turned eleven—”

            “I was nine,” Dis said, more for her herself; to put it into prospective.

            “Yes,” Fris agreed. “Your father had really started in on Thorin and Frerin and I just wasn’t sure how to handle the whole thing. He has always been rather … handsy with me … not in the good way, mind you, but I could take it. Yet, when he started on the boys, I … I did what you did today, I reached out for my mother.”

            Dis vaguely remembered her mother’s mother, Granny, as she was called by them. She had been a typical grandmother, sweet and loving, if a bit clueless about the world around her.

            “When I told her I wanted to leave your father,” Fris continued on, “she urged me to reconsider; to stay.”

            Dis wasn’t necessarily surprised.

            “She said that children needed a man about and that it was selfish of me to think only of myself.”

            Dis couldn’t have disagreed more; her mother was thinking of them all.

            “So … I stayed,” Fris finished. “And I followed the other advice my mother gave me; to counter the effects of your father’s behavior, I should act in the opposite manner, thus providing a means for the situation to ‘right itself’ as my mother called it. By having both sides presented to you and your brothers, everything would be even. After awhile it just became the norm and I … figured endurance would be best.”

            That was the most insane thing Dis had ever heard; who would give such advice? But it did explain so much of her mother’s actions. Dis finally knew why her mother seemed so bent on ignoring what was there in front of them and only seeing things in a pleasant and sunny light.

            “But, in the end,” Fris continued on, “I did more damage staying than I would have done in leaving. I must take the blame for Frerin’s death and Thorin’s wish to take his own life, not to mention the separation from the one person he loved; if only I’d been brave enough to listen to my own advice all those years ago and left when I had the chance.”

            Dis also felt a small pang of guilt. Yesterday she hadn’t wanted to talk to her mother; hadn’t even wanted to see the woman. Dis had been adamant that Fris show some real repentance before Dis would even consider forgiving. But she had failed to realize the depth of how much her mother was also a victim of her father. And it dawned on her that strength could come in many different shapes and forms, and often with different faces; her mother’s now among the many.

            “You can’t blame yourself for Frerin!” Dis loved and missed her brother but the blame couldn’t rest with her mother. “Even knowing how he pushed Frerin, you couldn’t possibly have known that Frerin would take his own life! And even then, you had no idea that Daddy had been the one truly responsible for taking Frerin’s love away!”

            Fris apparently didn’t agree. “I should have been more observant, more involved, made different choices … done something. I should have known.”

            “Mum,” Dis almost laughed. “Dad is very good at hiding his deceit; Thorin’s story should convince you of that. No one can be everywhere, all the time, and know all things! It wasn’t your fault.”

            Fris turned and gave her daughter a small smile. “Just like you can’t be blamed for what your father has done to Fili.”

            For one of the few times in her life, Dis sat still, gaping, and a little stunned. Had her mother just led her where she needed to go?

            Fris’ smile widened. “And I would like to point out that the minute you found out there was a problem, you and your husband realized it was above your head, and you called Doctor Grey the next morning to set the wheels in motion, you sought out the help your son needs. That doesn’t sound like a woman who has reason to feel guilty; it sounds like a mother who used her intelligence to do what was best for her child.”

            Dis threw her arms around her mother and hugged her tight. They both cried and laughed at the same time, more from the release than humor, but it felt good; Dis felt great taking in air and having it fill her lungs, rather than choking on her own regrets.

            “Thank you, Mum,” Dis whispered, not wanting to let go.

            “Darling,” Fris replied softly. “I’m here for you; for as long as I draw breath, I’ll be here for you.”

            As they separated, Fris began to gather her things. But Dis didn’t want it to end here. “Mum … what I said yesterday … I was … angry and—”

            “As you should’ve been,” Fris interjected honestly.

            “Maybe,” Dis conceded.   “But, I just want you to know, that … if you want … know you’re welcome to stay with Vili and me. I’m sure the boys would love it, and it might be good—”

            “Thank you, darling,” Fris said but she shook her head. “But I think right now, it’s best if you and your husband focus on your sons and your family; and I focus on standing on my own two feet.” Fris seemed to hesitate before asking quietly, “Have you heard from your brother?”

            Dis shook her head. “Not that I’m expecting to anytime soon.”

            “No,” Fris agreed. “I’m sure that he and Mister Baggins have much to discuss.”

            Dis nodded. “You just have to give Thorin some time, Mum. He’ll come around.” Dis wasn’t sure, though, if she was reassuring her mother with her statement, or trying to convince herself.

            “Well, if he doesn’t,” Fris said softly, “I wouldn’t blame him.”

            As she walked her mother to her office door, Dis gave Fris one last hug good-bye. “If there’s anything you need,” Dis said as she pulled away, reached for the door handle, and opened the door.

            “Thank you, darling,” Fris said with a smile. “I will remember that; especially when I move into my new flat.”

            Dis was taken back a bit. “You’ve found a flat?”

            Fris nodded in excitement. “Oh yes! It’s lovely! Brand new building, lovely woodwork, very spacious! Wait until your father gets the bill.” Fris finished with a laugh.

            Dis had to join in the laughter. “You’re charging it to Daddy?”

            “Of course,” her mother said, picking up her purse and tote bag. “I’m still the wife of Thrain Durin; I’ll be getting almost half of everything he owns anyway, so …” Fris just shrugged.

            Dis smiled and shook her head. “You’re too much! You must be very confident with your attorney.”

            “No, my love,” Fris said with a quick kiss on Dis’ cheek as she headed out the door. “I’m confident in myself!” With that, her mother breezed out of Dis’ office, said good-bye to Dis’ secretary, Jane, with a cheery smile, and held her head up high as she headed to the lifts.

            Dis had to admit, she had every confidence in her mother as well.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            The rest of Friday passed quickly and by the time Dis got home that night, she felt much better regarding the course of action for Fili and her mother. She shared with Vili all that Andy and her mother had said and Vili agreed. However, he did tell Dis that Fili had been sullen most of the day, stuck to himself and was obviously withdrawing. It was to be expected and Vili, although he tried to draw his son out of it, clearly saw the signs of depression starting. Dis wondered if they should be worried, but Vili said that while worry was natural, he didn’t think they should be over worried. Grey would see Fili in a few days and they would simple try and draw Fili out as best they could, continue with their routine, and watch for any worsening. It was all they could do.

            Kili was his usually, buoyant self, and asked Dis, again, if he could call Uncle Thorin. Once more, Dis said no, but that they would try on tomorrow during the day. She debated telling Kili about Fili but held off. It was Fili’s pain and he didn’t need to feel like they were discussing him behind his back; that couldn’t be good. So, they would wait and perhaps after Fili had seen Andy once or twice, she and Vili could ease Kili into the truth. Naturally, she would avoid any specifics regarding Kili himself in the conversation. Maybe Andy could even help with that talk as well.

            It was after the boys had gone to bed that Dis decided that maybe it was time to connect with Thorin. She called his phone but got no answer. She tried the landline but, again, no answer; not even the answering machine picked up. Finally, having no other choice, she sent a text. It was at the twenty minute mark, when she wondered if she should be worried or not, when her phone chimed; alerting of a new text. Dis stared down at the message but the wondering didn’t go away.

            All it said was, _‘We’re fine.’_

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Come Saturday, Vili decided to take the boys to a match between Man-U and Bayern Munich. Vili thought it best to get the boys out of the house, together, and Fili actually looked a tad excited. Dis left them to it; not because she didn’t want to go, but she had something very important to take care of and it couldn’t wait.

            Placing a call to Ori, Dis invited him for lunch; naturally, Dwalin came along. Dis took them to Cecconi’s and had a wonderful meal and it was afterwards, when coffee had been ordered and desert was on it’s way, that Dis came clean and apologized to Ori.

            She tried to explain her position and her actions as clearly as she could but Ori cut her off before she could finish. Ori said that while he was disappointed that she felt she couldn’t have simply asked him, he insisted that Dis had no reason to apologize, especially in light of the revelations Wednesday night. He was in no way hurt, nor did he feel used. Ori finished that, really, when one looked back on it, there was nothing he told her that wasn’t the truth, nothing that he would have wanted to keep hidden and frankly, would have told her anyway, had she just stated what she was after.

            Ori also stated that while he was charmed that Dwalin had rushed to his defense, he gently chided the burly man for being so cross with Dis over such a simple matter. Dwalin, unlike Dis, offered no apology, stated that he would do exactly the same again, and that Ori should get used to the fact that he would always protect him and that was final and just build a bridge and get over it, if Ori didn’t like it. Ori didn’t say if he liked it or not, but Dis felt that the faint blush and soft smile on Ori’s face said it all.

            It was in the middle of desert that Dis asked if either of them had heard from Thorin or Bilbo. Dwalin said no, but confessed that he hadn’t tried. He figured that Thorin didn’t need him breathing down his neck and would contact Dwalin when he was good and ready. Ori admitted that he had tried twice to reach Bilbo; once on Thursday night and then again, Friday afternoon. Both times, the phone rang but eventually went to voice mail. Ori then sent a text message, all he got in response was, _‘We’re fine.’_

            “Doesn’t it strike you as odd,” Dis asked Ori, “that we both got the _exact_ same response? From both of them?”

            “It does a little,” Ori confided. “I hope everything is alright.”

            “Should we go over there?” Dis wondered out loud.

            “Do you know any of Thorin’s neighbors?” Ori questioned.

            “No,” Dis confided. “Although there is that one old lady that lives next door that I always seem to run into when I go over.”

            “What about the doorman?” Ori suggested. “Or one of the building’s maintenance men; maybe one of them could … subtly check or something and get back to you.”

            Dwalin groaned loudly and turned to Dis. “You just apologized to Ori because you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, and now you’re practically ready to call the coppers to check on Thorin?” Dwalin then turned to Ori. “And you know perfect well that Bilbo will tell you in time, if you’re just patient.”

            Both Dis and Ori looked like they wanted to disagree. Sadly, they did.

            “Aren’t you worried?”

            “No.”

            “Are you the least bit curious?”

            “No.”

            “Don’t you think, that—?”

            “No. No. No!” Dwalin sighed and turned to Ori. “Look, last weekend, did anyone call after you and wonder what was going on?”

            “Dori rung me,” Ori said with a triumphant air.

            “But only because he was concerned about Bilbo, not calling after you.”

            That was true and Ori knew it.

            “But, no one rung you, wondering if something was wrong.”

            “No,” Ori had to concede that.

            “In fact,” Dwalin said, pressing on, “the two times you talked to Bilbo was when you called him to complain that he told Dori everything before you, and then when he called you to tell you he was coming back early. Neither time was he wondering what we were up to, was he?”

            “No.”

            “Would you have liked everyone and their uncle ringing you up and checking on you?”

            “No.”

            “Yet now,” Dwalin went in for the kill, “you want to chat up Bilbo, just because you haven’t heard from him for a couple days, when you know perfectly well where he is, who he is with, and know the whole horrible story behind his and Thorin’s separation.”

            Ori hated being cornered. “This isn’t fair,” Ori said with what Dwalin called Ori’s ‘adorable pout.’

            “What isn’t?” Dwalin asked with an affectionate smirk.

            “You!” Ori stated. “Using … logic and crap on me.”

            “Sorry about that,” Dwalin with a chuckle and catching Dis shaking her head and hiding a laugh herself. “I guess I should be more clueless for you.”

            “That's not what I meant,” Ori stated looking put out on Dwalin’s behalf.

            “No, but maybe you prefer me big and dumb?”

            “Don’t say that!” Ori said, with even more of a pout. “That’s worse!”

            “Oh, I see. You just prefer to have the upper hand.”

            “Well,” Ori obviously mulled that over for a second. “Yes.”

            Dwalin and Dis burst out laughing and finally Ori smiled when he realized how it all sounded. Sadly, it was even funnier because it was all true. Dwalin just leaned over and gave Ori a big, soppy kiss which was gladly accepted.

            “Honestly,” Dis said, taking the check the waiter brought over and handing it back with her credit card. “If you two were any sweeter together I’d have to go on a diet.”

            They parted ways and Dis returned home. She thought about what Dwalin had said and she realized that he was correct. Sure, she hadn’t heard from Thorin in almost four days, but she had gotten the text. Short as it was, it had come from his phone and really, she wouldn’t want anyone bother her if she and Vili were having a romantic weekend; surely Thorin and Bilbo had even more reason for wanting to be alone.   She would take a page from Dwalin’s book and wait; unless there was something else to make her worry she would leave them alone.

            When the boys got home, they seemed happier—at least Fili did. However, as night fell, Fili had returned to a rather pensive mood and he retreated into himself. Dis tried not to grow overly concerned but it was hard. She told herself over and over that they would see Doctor Grey and it would be alright.

            It had to be.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Sunday had always been family day. For all his educational background, Vili very much supported Sundays as work free days; including Dis. No homework, no housework, no work brought home from the office, no business calls for Dis, no educational planning for Vili; Sunday was for fun. But it didn’t take them long to realize that Fili was using the day to spend time alone, in his room, with his headphones, laying on his bed and just staring at the ceiling.

            As promised, Dis allowed Kili to ring his Uncle Thorin. Knowing that Kili would want to talk about everything and ask a million questions, Dis thought it best if he and she went into the home office where Kili wouldn’t have to restrain himself, nor would the conversation intrude on anyone else. Not to mention, Kili loved using the speaker phone; his natural exuberance not conducive to holding a handset.

            They first dialed Thorin’s mobile. It rang and rang but, not surprising, there was no answer. Kili, however, was undeterred. He quickly dialed the landline number and waited. Once again, Dis wasn’t the least bit surprised when the answering machine picked-up and Thorin’s voice filled the room.

            _“You’ve reached 01865-276-310. Sorry, I can’t come to phone, but please leave your name, number and a brief message, and I’ll return your call.”_

            The beep was barely over when Kili started in. “HI, UNCLE THORIN! I hope you’re okay. Mummy told us what happened and how you and Mister Boggins have re … re-quin … reaquen” Kili struggled with the word reacquainted for a moment but quickly moved on. “Got back to together! I can’t wait to meet him and Mummy says he’s lovely and that he makes you really happy and I think that’s a good thing because we talked about how you’ve been sad, so I think having Mister Boggins around is brilliant; I think everyone should be happy, although I don’t think Fili’s very happy right now, he’s mopping around upstairs and—”

            “I think that’s enough, Kili,” Dis shot out gently but firmly; wouldn’t do to bring up Fili right now.

            “Oh right,” Kili said. “Anyway, I hope you’re okay and ring me back when you get a chance; I’d love to meet Mister Boggins and maybe you both can come for tea or dinner and then we can all meet him. Does he like football? Maybe we can go to a game instead! Daddy took us to a game yesterday and it was wicked good! Or maybe we could all go out and do something like the movies or something. Does Mister Boggins like movies? What does he—?”

            “Say good-bye, Kili,” Dis said, trying not to laugh.

            “Right,” Kili agreed with a nod. “Bye, Uncle Thorin. Love you.”

            Kili was high as a kite for great part of the day afterwards and continued to wax poetic about Mister ‘Boggins’ and how he couldn’t wait to meet him and wondering what he was like. Dis groaned a bit inwardly; poor Bilbo won’t know what hits him when he finally did meet Kili. But she was sure it was be just fine.

            Fili, however, didn’t join in and any mention of Thorin seemed to send him further into himself. It was getting harder and harder as the day wore on get Fili to join them for anything. By mid-afternoon, Dis figured she would call in reinforcements; she called her mother.

            Fris was thrilled to come over for dinner and she made desert—a lemon layer cake with raspberry preserves.   Fili came out of his shell a little bit with his grandmother but he was still rather quiet. Fris told Dis, after the boys had finally gone to bed, that while she understood their concern, she was sure Fili would eventually be alright; Fris was positive of it. She pointed out that Fili had loving parents, a supportive family—although the fifteen year old didn’t realize such a thing—and would soon have the help he needed.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            It was with this distraction of Fili and Fris’s positive attitude still rattling around in her brain that diverted Dis Monday morning so that when the shit hit the fan, she was caught off guard.

            It began like any avalanche, quietly, with the tiniest sound to set it all off; her computer chimed that she had a new interoffice email. No big surprise, she got them all the time; from Balin about that old client or from Gloin or Gimli about this new account. Oin might ask whether she needed anything from the store as he was running out. Dwalin might email her regarding her opinion about a stock that was performing strangely, or Thorin would email about getting together and going over the figures for that month on a particular investment.

            Naturally she didn’t rush to open it; it could wait a few minutes. She was looking over the Kellynch account when her phone rang. She picked it up without looking, not worried yet.

            “Dis Durin,” She murmured; still distracted with her reading.

            “Did you read your email?” Dwalin asked. His voice sound odd, with a bit of an edge and that finally got her attention.

            “No,” Dis answered, but she was already moving to open it. “Hang on.”

            It was from her Uncle Fundin. There was to be a board meeting in one hour; an emergency meeting. Board members only.

            No one was to discuss the meeting with anyone not on the board, including personal secretaries. However, Dwalin’s Carolyn was apparently attending as minute taker. No reply to the email was necessary as all board members were required to show up.

            What the fuck?! “What’s going on?” Dis asked Dwalin and taking a sip of tea. “And why is he using Carolyn as minute taker? That seems so … beneath her duties.”

            “Haven’t a clue,” Dwalin answer with a slight growl. “Carolyn won’t tell me.”

            Dis almost choked; had she heard that right? “Come again?”  That Carolyn wouldn't tell Dwalin was bazaar in and of itself.

            “You heard me,” Dwalin confirmed. “But right now, there is something more puzzling than even that; did you notice anything odd about the contact list on the email?”

            Dis hadn’t but looked now that Dwalin mentioned it. _Okay, let’s see – Groin was on there but not Fundin; not surprised, Fundin sent it out, didn’t need another copy of the email and I bet you Groin’s is only so he has a copy for the records. Balin, of course, Dwalin, myself, Oin, Gloin, and Gimli. Mother of course; she has only a fraction of stock but she is still a member. There’s Carolyn; but like Groin, I bet you that was just for the record. Thorin was there—he was last. Strange that Fundin would add his name at the end and not the beginning, especially as he is under –_

            “Wait,” Dis got it, “Where’s my father’s name?”

            “Exactly,” Dwalin said.

            “He’s chairman of the board,” Dis said. She didn’t care really didn’t give a shit about Thrain, yet it was more than strange for an emergency meeting to be scheduled but no one bothering to tell the chairman. “What do you think that means?”

            “Maybe Dad and Uncle Groin already talked to him?” Dwalin offered but didn’t sound like he himself was convinced.

            “They why bother to email Groin, as he already knows I’m sure.”

            “Couldn’t tell you.”

            “Oh, Christ,” Dis huffed out. “Why do we have to do this on a Monday?! Why couldn’t we’ve done this on a Friday or something?”

            “Hey,” Dwalin replied and Dis could almost ‘hear’ him shrug. “You’re preaching to the choir; I can’t say. However, we will find out in about an hour.”

            “And Thorin is on here,” Dis pointed out. “I mean, how are they sure Thorin even saw this email with such short notice?”

            “Again, you’re asking the wrong guy.”

            “Do you think they talked to him?”

            “Maybe. The email might just be formality.”

            “And why is he at the end? This isn’t a premade email list, this was hand done … none of us are in order.” There were lists, already in the email system, and one only had to type in the title of the group or department—‘Board Members’, ‘Secretarial’, ‘Investments’—and instantly everyone on that list was emailed. With the board, the list was everyone in order of position starting from the highest position—and with the most stock—down to the bottom; Thrain, Fundin, Groin, Thorin, Balin, Dis, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin, Fris, and finally Gimli, who had only recently been added.

            “Dwalin,” Dis said quietly, “Should we be worried?”

            Dwalin soft sigh carried over the line. “I’d love to say ‘no,’ but I can’t.”

            There was a gentle knock on Dis’ office door and then it cracked open so that her secretary, Jane, could just stick her head in.

            “Word down the hall,” Jane said; code for _‘secretary gossip.’_ “Your brother is here.”

            “ _’Here.’_ As in right outside?” Dis asked quickly.

            “No, Harriet called,” Jane stated. “He’s in his office. And he brought a young man with him.” Jane just gave her a pointed look and closed the door.

            _Bilbo? Thorin brought Bilbo with him?_

            “Dwalin.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Meeting in Thorin’s office; now.”

            There was barely a beat as Dwalin took it in. “Right.”

            Dis got up and moved as quickly but calmly as she could. Maybe now she could get some real answers.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - Thorin's phone number is real. It's for Merton College at Oxford (for those who are not Tolkien geeks, that's where Professor Tolkien taught). Thought you might like to know ...


	19. MONDAY (Noon) - Thunder and Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** unbeta-ed. feel free to tell me where i made mistakes **

* * *

 

 

            Dis wasn’t one for quoting movies, especially action movies, but she had to admit, she really loved Black Widow; _‘First rule of going on the run is: "Don't run. Walk."’_ Dis couldn’t have agreed more.

            Dis walked calmly towards Thorn’s office with an air of being collected and dignified; if anyone noticed anything amiss, they didn’t say; not that many would have been smart enough to notice, nor brave enough to say.

            As she rounded the corner, Dwalin was waiting for her.

            “I assume Thorin is here?” Dwalin whisper quietly, falling in step with her.

            “You assume correctly,” Dis nodded. “And, he brought a … _‘young man’_ with him.”

            “A young man?” Dwalin said sounding amused and clearly not needing Dis to explain who it was. “Why the hell would he bring him to a _board meeting_?”

            “Your guess is a good as mine.”

            As they approached, Harriet gave them a nod to indicate it was okay to proceed and they stepped up to the office door; Dwalin knocked and barely waited for Thorin to say, ‘Enter’, before going in.

            Dis took in the scene before her and later would congratulate herself on not betraying her surprise.

            Thorin was sitting on the corner of his desk in an uncharacteristically relax manner. His hair was neat and combed but it wasn’t all slicked back and subdued, it was casual. He wore dark blue jeans and black shoes; trendy to the point of youthful. However, it was the open collared, pale blue dress shirt, untucked and the sleeves rolled to his elbows that was amazing; Thorin looked more like _Thorin_ than he had in years.

            Bilbo stood in front of her brother looking adorable in faded, up-turned blue jeans, well worn Sanders Derby shoes and a crisp white shirt under a blue and silver tartan waistcoat. Dis knew him to be in his mid-thirties but with his tousled, honey-blond curls and Windsor glasses, Bilbo could have passed as a uni student! No wonder Jane had referred to him as a _‘young man’_ with a particular glint in their eyes; Harriet had probably thought Thorin was robbing the cradle and passed that bit of speculation along.

            Thorin had both arms wrapped around Bilbo’s waist and was holding him rather possessively close, while Bilbo had his arms around Thorin’s neck and didn’t in the least bit look uncomfortable _being_ possessed.

            None of that surprised Dis at all. She wanted to shake her head; just like Dwalin and Ori, these two were going to push her into a sugar coma with all the damn sweetness.

            Yet, for all their casual coolness and ‘put-together’ look, what _did_ surprise her was how tired both men looked. There were dark circles under Bilbo’s eyes and Thorin looked drained. She could only assume that the years they were apart were taking their toll on their sleep. Lord knows, her sleep over the last three years had been uneasy thanks to Thorin’s issues; how could it not affect both Bilbo and Thorin even more so.

            While Dis picked up all this near instantly, Dwalin didn’t; launching right into the matter at hand.

            “So what the fucks going on?” Dwalin demanded.

            Before Thorin could even register a response, Bilbo had one handy. “And good-morning to you too,” Bilbo snarked, a scowl forming on his youthful face.

            Dwalin came up short as he, clearly, wasn’t expecting Bilbo to confront him. “Hey,” Dwalin countered, recovering quickly. “We’re just trying to get information—”

            “Then maybe you should ask,” Bilbo said pointedly. “ _Politely_.”

            Dwalin laughed. “Oh excuse me. I didn’t know I had to put on my Sunday manners!”

            “Try just having manners, period,” Bilbo added dryly.

            Before Dwalin could really get started, Dis cut him off, saying to Thorin and Bilbo, “You two can’t blame us for being curious as to what is going on.”

            Thorin and Bilbo exchanged a glance before Thorin stated quietly, “What are _you two_ talking about?”

            “Well, for starters,” Dis said, trying hard not to roll her eyes, “the email just went out fifteen minutes ago, and yet you are already here and dressed as if you were expecting to be called in.”

            “What email?” Thorin asked. “And called in for _what_?”

            “Don’t act stupid with us,” Dwalin spat out.

            “Why,” Bilbo quipped, “because you’ve already cornered the market in stupid?” Obviously Bilbo wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

            Dwalin puffed like he was going to explode, but Thorin cut in, insisting, “I have no idea what either of you are on about.”

            “Really?” Dwalin asked, unbelieving. “If you didn’t know about the meeting—”

            “ _What_ meeting?”

            “—then why are you two here?”

            Again, there was a shared looked between Thorin and Bilbo, Dis reading the frustration in Thorin’s eyes that most would miss.

            Thorin sighed and said, “I didn’t know about _any_ meeting.”

            “Bullshit!” Dwalin spat out.

            “I’m telling you,” Thorin stated, his anger rising. “I don’t know what either of you are talking about! I came in regarding a … a personal matter. I called Uncle Fundin about it, this morning, he asked me to come down and discuss it.”

            “Discuss what?” Dwalin demanded.

            “It’s personal,” Bilbo interjected before Thorin could.

            “Personal,” Dwalin repeated, with fire in his eyes. “Or more like _personnel_! Don’t fucking tell me you don’t know about Dad’s meeting—”

            “I’ve already told you—”

            “Then tell me why the hell did you call—” Dwalin started but was silenced.

            “Back off!” Bilbo said, turning in Thorin’s arms and glaring at Dwalin. “Thorin called your father this morning; that’s the truth! It was your _father_ that asked Thorin to come in and talk about it, so if you have a problem with that, then I suggest you speak to him! _Now, stop badgering Thorin about some damn meeting he knows nothing about_!”

            Dwalin looked ready for a fight. “With all due respect, Bilbo, this really doesn’t concern—”

            “What?! Concern me?!” Bilbo threw back. “Thorin will _always_ be my concern!”

            “This isn’t just about Thorin!” Dwalin barked out.

            “Maybe not for you, but it is for me!” Bilbo countered. “Thorin isn’t even in the door a minute and you’re all over his arse—”

            “We have the right to know—”

            “Know what?! Information? Like the information _you’d probably get_ if you’d be fucking patient and wait for your father _—your father, mind you!—_ to tell you—”

            “Okay, okay!” Dis held up her hands at both Dwalin and Bilbo and both men quieted immediately, if reluctantly. She looked at her brother but Thorin, who was strangely silent, wore an angry look and was obviously avoiding her gaze.

            “Dwalin,” Dis turned to her cousin. “Bilbo’s right.”

            Dwalin looked enraged. “You’re siding with—”

            “This isn’t about sides,” Dis countered. “We’re all in this together.” Dwalin relaxed at that but still wore a scowl. “As Bilbo said, it’s Fundin’s meeting and if Thorin says he doesn’t know—”

            “I don’t!”

            “—then that’s the end of it.”

            Dwalin didn’t seem to want to agree but after a few long moments, nodded.

            “And as far as Thorin’s personal reason for calling—” Dis waited to see if Thorin would continue your line.

            Thorin sighed. “It’s …” he said quietly, his voice trailing off in thought. “I mean, it’ll … look, if there is some sort of gathering, then it will just be easier for me to tell everyone at once.”

            “Very well,” Dis turning to Dwalin. “We’ll wait.”

            Dwalin didn’t say anything, but huffed a sigh and left. Dis turned back to Bilbo and Thorin and watched a moment as Bilbo ran a hand gently through Thorin’s hair, clearly trying to sooth him.

            Stepping up to them, she addressed Bilbo, “That could have gone better.” Dis wore a little smile, hoping Bilbo would understand that it was all alright, no hard feelings; because there weren’t.

            “I’m sorry,” Bilbo replied. “I just couldn’t stand by and—”

            “It’s oaky,” Dis said letting her smile grow. “I think it’s very honorable to protect the one you love.” She turned to Thorin. “Don’t you agree brother-mine?”

            Thorin didn’t say anything; he nodded and cast his scowl down at his feet. Dis thought his anger disproportionate to the situation but then again, Thorin couldn’t be expected to be better over night, or even in a few days. She just hoped Bilbo could deal with Thorin’s anger issues and mood swings. Bilbo didn’t seem to notice anything.

            “It’s all over now and everything is fine,” Bilbo said, continuing to sooth Thorin. “Yes?” Thorin nodded, somewhat reluctantly and didn’t reply. “It’s all fine. We’re fine.”

            Dis wasn’t sure fine was the right term, but let it go. “Well, I’ll see you two in just a while.”

            “We’ll be along,” Bilbo said, turning back to hug Thorin and once again, Thorin nodded but said nothing.

            Dis left and glanced quickly at Harriet; if the secretary heard anything she made no indication. But Dis was sure the girl heard something. Either way, it’d be around the office in no time.  

            If that disaster of a confrontation told her anything, it was Thorin’s reason for being there had nothing to do with whatever this emergency board meeting was about.

            “Dis.”

            She turned and found Dwalin waiting for her around the corner, standing in the doorway of an empty office. He motioned her to enter and, with a quick look around for prying eyes, Dis followed.

            “What do you make of that?” Dwalin started as soon as he closed the door.          

            “Thorin’s not lying,” Dis said. “If he knew and couldn’t say, he’d tell us so and _‘Fuck off.’_ ”

            Dwalin huffed out a little laugh and nodded; it was quite true.

            “As far as his personal issue,” Dis continued, “we’ll find out soon enough; he’ll tell us when he’s ready.” Pushing Thorin wasn’t always a good idea.

            “I was asking more about Bilbo,” Dwalin said with a sharp look.

            _Oh I see._ Dis worked hard not to smirk; Dwalin wasn’t used to being challenged. Sure Thorin and he could go at it but they were equally matched. But Bilbo? “Can I take it your world has been a bit rocked?”

            “I’m just not sure how much I like him,” Dwalin confessed.

            “I can understand that,” Dis agreed. “But I’d like to give you a little bit of advice.”

            Dwalin cocked an eyebrow, looking wary of what was to come, but Dis wasn’t going to lie.  “First off,” Dis started. “No matter how much you may dislike him, you’d better control that emotion.”

            “And what?  Play nice for Thorin?”

            “No. For Ori.”

            Dwalin looked confused for a second and then came the dawn.

            “Bilbo Baggins is your lover’s best friend. Unless you want put the love of your life in the middle of you and Bilbo, you’d better let a great many things ride for a bit until things settle.”

            Dwalin nodded. “I see your point.”

            “I’m glad,” Dis meant it too, “because if you start picking fights with Bilbo, you are probably going to earn his dislike, definitely Thorin’s anger and most likely Ori’s displeasure.”

            Dwalin closed his eyes and growled. “God-dammit.”

            Dis just smiled and shook her head; Dwalin was man trapped. She patted his shoulder and then ran her hand up and down her cousin’s muscled arm in a show of comfort and solidarity.

            “And don’t forget,” Dis added. “We’re all in the same boat.”

            “In what way?” Dwalin asked.

            “Thorin and Bilbo are still quite hurt,” Dis was dead serious. “None of us will do them any favors if we don’t realize that pushing them will only pick at the scabs and wounds they have. We have to let them heal before we can even begin to treat them like normal.”

            Dwalin nodded and Dis was happy he got it. If he didn’t … well, the consequences would be bleak to say the least.

            They opened the door to leave, only to run right into the man that had caused all the drama.

            “There you are,” Fundin said with a cheeky smile. “Hiding to have secret meetings?”

            “Speaking of fucking secret meetings—” Dwalin started.

            “Yes, speaking of those,” Fundin replied. “Get your arses down to the conference room; we’re starting.” With pointed look at them both, the man turned and went off in the direction of Thorin’s office; most likely to look for said office’s owner.

            “Let the games begin,” Dis whispered loudly, hooking an arm through one of Dwalin’s and pulling him towards whatever surprise awaited them all.

            Heaven help them.

            Just as they arrived at the main conference room, Dis noticed her mother chatting with Aunt Ingrid. As she and Dwalin approached though, Ingrid turned, nodded to them, turned back to whisper something to Fris and then left; she wasn’t on the board so in all likelihood, she was going to wait in Uncle Groin’s office.

            “Hello, darling,” Fris greeted Dis and the two women shared a quick but heartfelt hug.

            “Hello, mum,” Dis said as stepped back; Dwalin silent beside her. “Why is Aunt Ingrid here?”

            “Just came along for support,” Fris said quietly.

            “Support for what?” Dwalin asked.

            Fris looked from Dwalin to Dis. “It’s really not my place to say.”

            “ _You know_ what this meeting is about, don’t you?” Dis was more than surprised. How was it that her mother knew but her brother didn’t? “Not even Thorin knows—”

            “It’s better he doesn’t know going in,” Fris stated quickly.

            “He’s our Junior VP,” Dwalin pointed out. “How is it better—”

            “You’ll just have to trust your father,” Fris replied to Dwalin and crossed her arms; her signal that she wasn’t saying anything more.

            It was getting stranger by the minute.

            Fundin came up behind the three of them, nodded to Fris and then entered the room. Dis and Dwalin watched him go by, but Dis failed to see Fris’ attention focused in the opposite direction; at first.

            “Hello, Thorin,” Fris said softly.

            Dis turned and noticed the way Thorin’s knuckles went white as he tightened his grip on his cane handle.

            “Mother,” Thorin ground out, giving his mother a hard look. Bilbo had his right arm hooked through Thorin’s left while his free hand rested on Thorin’s forearm. Dis had to wonder if anyone else notice the near-imperceptible way Bilbo tightened his hold.

            “You look well,” Fris replied to Thorin.

            “Surprisingly so,” Thorin’s hard, unblinking stare was uncomfortable even for those not on it’s receiving end. “Or maybe not,” Thorin added as he glanced over to look at Bilbo and his features instantly morphed into something soft and tender.

            Bilbo looked at Thorin with much affection and Dis was stuck at the memory of the photo she’d found of the two of them at Bilbo’s last lecture.

            “You must be Bilbo,” Fris stated and Dis almost groaned; _Tread carefully, mother, for your own sake._

            “Yes, I am,” Bilbo answered. While his face was unreadable and Dis wouldn’t confess to knowing him well, she would swear that his eyes were filled with many emotions; pain, hurt, anger, mistrust. She couldn’t blame him.

            Fris’ eyes darted over to Thorin but didn’t look him in the eye, before she looked back to Bilbo. “I’m ... it’s very nice to meet you … at last.”

            “Yes, I’m sure it is,” Thorin growled out, removing his arm from Bilbo’s grip so that, instead, he could wrap it around Bilbo’s shoulders and pull him closer. “I think we’ve had enough of the pleasantries.” At that, Thorin pushed himself and Bilbo past his mother and entered the conference room.

            Fris’ face flushed and Dis really did feel badly for her. But at the same time, she couldn’t hold Thorin’s anger against him; her mother and father actions had purchased Thorin’s pain; his wrath was their repayment.

            “Give him time,” Dis said, step forward and taking her mother’s hand.

            Fris nodded, giving her daughter a sad smile but said nothing.

            “When you’re ready,” Fundin called out and Dis, Fris and Dwalin entered the room.

            Almost everyone was there. Moving around the table clockwise, there was Gloin, Gimli and then Oin. Fris took the chair next to Oin, while Dis, of course, sat next to her mother. Balin was already seated in the chair on the other side of Dis, so Dis figured Dwalin would sit on the other side of Balin. However, Thorin held Dwalin back and whispered something to him, which Dwalin nodded, stepped back and Thorin took the chair next to Balin instead. Now Thorin sat Bilbo next to him and Dwalin took up the chair after that, right next to Carolyn. That left three chairs at the head of the table. Fundin was standing near the head but hadn’t taken a seat and it was at that moment that Dis realized there were still two people missing; Groin and Thrain.

            “We’ll be starting in just a few minutes,” Fundin said, his face quite dour.

            “What about Granddad?” Gimli asked; clearly Dis wasn’t the only one to notice the missing members.

            “He’s coming,” was all the answer Fundin gave.

            “What’s this all about?” Dwalin demanded.

            “Patience,” Fundin replied, not looking at his son.

            “Ah come on!” Dwalin spat out. “All this cloak and dagger bullsh—”

            “I said patience!” Fundin cut across Dwalin and effectively silenced the room.

            The air in the room seemed to thicken; what ever was going on was no joke and Fundin was not enjoying himself, despite his earlier cheek to Dis and Dwalin. Dis exchanged a quick and pointed look with both Dwalin and Thorin; Dis could tell both were getting edgy.

            The door to the conference opened and Groin came in; with Thrain right behind. Thrain seemed as surprised to see everyone else as they were all to see him. Groin, however, moved into the room quickly and took the seat next to Gloin.

            “What the hell is going on?” Thrain said with scowl.

            “Have a seat, cousin,” Fundin said and indicated, not the seat at the head of the table but the chair next Carolyn; Fundin remained standing in front of the top chair.

            Thrain puffed up like an Adder. “I demand to—”

            “He said sit down!” Groin snarled at Thrain.

            Thrain’s shock was evident on his face. Groin was the one person who was always on his side. Groin was the one that always went along with Thrain, no matter what. Out of his comfort zone, Thrain simply sat down and silence fell over the room once more.

            “Before we get started,” Fundin said calmly and Dis could swear she heard a touch of sadness in his voice. “I want to thank you all for coming on such short notice. I would further like to thank Carolyn Goddard,” Fundin gestured towards the lady mentioned, “for agreeing to be minute taker. Also, there is a … personal matter to be brought up. I spoke with Thorin this morning, and I asked him to come down to discuss it. I don’t think he had a board meeting in mind,” Fundin said with small, fond smile, “but since we are his family and we love and want what’s best for him, I believe this is as good a time as any.”

            Throughout her uncle’s announcement, Dis glanced over at Thrain and when Fundin mentioned loving Thorin, she saw her father’s jaw clench, as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. She almost laughed; she doubted Daddy would get away with the same insults he threw at Thorin days ago, today. Too bad Ori wasn’t there tell Thrain off again!

            Thorin stood, tapping Bilbo on the elbow so that he too stood with Thorin.

            “Thank you, Uncle Fundin,” Thorin stated and took a deep breath before continuing. “Since almost everyone here was present on Wednesday night, I won’t bore you with a review of what was said or revealed.” Thorin didn’t look at his father, but Dis noticed a couple of people glance over at Thrain quickly. “However, I would like to take this time to introduce you all to my …” Thorin looked at Bilbo and both shared a soft smile before Thorin quickly continued. “To the man I love; Bilbo Baggins.”

            Almost all present greeted Bilbo in some fashion; some nodded, others said ‘Hello’ a couple asked ‘How do you do?’ and Gimli, Lord bless him, smiled brightly and waved cheerfully. Bilbo smiled at them all, replied ‘Hello’ and returned Gimli’s wave with a small one of his own. The only one that made no gesture or greeting was Thrain, but that was hardly surprising. Bilbo on the other hand ended up giving Thrain an icy stare that never wavered.

            “As you can well imagine, Bilbo and I have taken the last few days to get reacquainted and … and heal. Therefore, I doubt it’ll surprise you that after much consideration, I have come to the conclusion that …” Thorin took a breath and Bilbo took one of Thorin’s hands in his, “that it would be in our best interest if I resign my position and take an indefinite leave of absence.”

            A few pairs of eyes went wide but Dis wasn’t one of them. Oh sure, had Thorin made this declaration a few weeks ago, she would have been completely shocked. But now? No—she actually agreed with Thorin; he needed time away. He and Bilbo both needed it.

            “Thorin,” Fundin said, with all the emotion that should have come from Thorin’s father, “I think I speak for everyone here when I say we understand and wish you only the best.” Thorin smiled at Fundin. “Please know that there’ll be no opposition should you decided to return.”

            Thorin nodded as he and Bilbo made to sit down, but they were stopped by Fundin’s voice.

            “However,” Fundin said with a more serious tone as he made to stand. “As much as we, _reluctantly_ , accept your resignation, your Uncle Groin and I will _only accept it_ after this board meeting.”

            _Oh, now that’s rather interesting,_ Dis thought. Not only was it clear to Dis that whatever was going to happen, Fundin wanted Thorin’s input or at least participation—as a member, but also that Fundin has mentioned himself and Groin, but not Thrain; not the president of the company. _Interesting to say the least._ Thorin stood frozen for a moment before nodding and taking his seat; he understood what Fundin was asking as well.

            “Now that we have Thorin settled,” Fundin stated; his voice turned hard and the look on his face stony, “We must discuss the cause for why we’re having this meeting in the first place.” Fundin took a deep breath, shared a quick look with Groin, and then continued. “I won’t waste your time trying to make it sound better than it is; it’s come to our attention that several of our high profile accounts and clients have been involved in rather questionable and prohibited activities.”

            Everyone sat up straighter on that that.

            “Most of these … _transactions_ ,” Fundin continued, “are not only morally and ethically questionable but are illegal, especially in the EU and The States.”

            Pieces began to tumble into place and Dis couldn’t help but turn a slow gaze onto her father, who only stared at the wall opposite him; a furious, vicious expression on his face; like a rabid animal cornered.

            “ _What_ transactions?” Thorin growled out.

            Instead of answering outright, Fundin lifted a box from under the table, took out what looked like prepared packets, and tossed them so that they spread out down the length of the table, easy for everyone to reach out and take a copy; most did. Only Carolyn, Groin, Fundin and Thrain, didn’t take one. Bilbo reached for one but he did so for Thorin, handing him the packet and proceeding to share with him.

            “As you all can see,” Fundin said, his voice getting a harder, “the transactions run the gamut; from hiding assets and tax evasion with off-shore accounts, to securities fraud … insider trading, front running … all the way up to bordering on money laundering.”            

            “Oh my God,” Dis said breathlessly.

            “Holy shit,” Gimli said with a shaky voice. “Some of these clients—”

            “Members of Parliament,” Balin stated.

            “Aristocracy,” Gloin added.

            “Major corporations,” Oin finally said.

            “There are a lot of big names on here,” Dwalin said. “Lot of celebrities.”

            “ _Fucking_ Christ,” Thorin whispered loudly.

            “If there is any … bright spot,” Fundin said, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “is that the vast majority of these incidents are with low profile accounts and individuals; smaller investments.”

            “Thank God for small favors,” Oin said.

            “There are also indications that many of these clients were …” Fundin hesitated and looked like what he was about to say was distasteful; it probably was. “Many of these clients were unaware of their accounts being used. In fact, what we have gathered from the supporting documents is that most of the accounts you see before you were used without the permission or even knowledge of the account holder.”

            “They were fronts?!” Thorin asked, almost sneering.

            Fundin nodded in agreement.

            “I don’t believe this,” Gloin groaned, looking ill.

            “The smaller accounts,” Fundin further explained, “appear to have been used as connecting accounts between the larger ones. However, if you look closely, you will see that approximately two-hundred and thirty-seven accounts were used in total.”

            “Two-hundred and thirty-seven doesn’t sound approximate to me,” Bilbo said dryly; probably louder than he meant to, because he blushed when a few people snickered at that. “I’m … sorry.”

            “No, it’s all right,” Fundin replied, not joining in the laughter. “And Mister Baggins brings up an important point; that number is approximate because we suspect more accounts have been compromised; we are simply unaware of them.”

            Dis heard Bilbo whisper to Thorin, “I know this is bad, but what does it all mean in the end?”

            “It means,” Thorin whispered back through clenched teeth, “if this went public, not only are we looking at a criminal investigation, but most of the people in this room would likely end up in jail simply because we are the controlling members.” At that Bilbo clutched at Thorin’s arm. “The big question is just who the fuck would—”

            But Bilbo wasn’t clueless and brought it all to a stop. “Do you really need to look far for the one responsible?”

            Like a flock of Starlings, almost every head at the table turned as one to look from Bilbo—to Thrain.

            “Once again, Mister Baggins is correct,” Fundin confirmed. “All these transactions originated with one person.”

            Thorin started out of his chair but both Bilbo and Dwalin held him back. “You son-of-a—,”

            “Save your breath!” Thrain spat out to Thorin. “You’ve got your head so far up _Baggins’_ arse you’re clueless about the real world! NONE OF YOU have a clue!”

            “Clue to what?!” Dwalin charged. “You’ve fucking played the company—”

            “I MADE THIS COMPANY!” Thrain shouted.

            “Bullshit!” Gloin shouted back. “Our forefathers made this company! You’ve brought it to ruin!”

            “I brought it some of the wealthiest clients!” Thrain insisted. “I’m the one that has made us the most money!”

            “Apparently through illegal means,” Dis countered.

            “Just like your brother,” Thrain spat at his daughter. “Sad that all my children turned out gormless. Must be genetic.” Train turned an accusing glare onto his wife.

            Fris puffed up like cat. “Only a bastard like you would project his own stupidity on his children!” Fris pointed an accusing finger at Thrain. “And don’t try using our _failed_ marriage as a means of distraction from your idiocy! _YOU_ are the one that has led us _ALL_ into this situation!”

            “Isn’t time for you to go have your nails done?” Thrain sneered in the ugliest way.

            “Sharpened more like it,” Fris sneered back.

            “Stop!” Oin barked out, and then bringing the conversation back on track. “What I want to know, is how he did this and no one noticed,”

            “He used several phony identities and accounts as a base,” Groin replied, “as well as phony email accounts.”

            “Oh my, GOD!” Gimli said, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “You realize that’s mail and wire fraud?! Shit! I think I’m going to throw up,” Gimli said honestly.

            “There is good news,” Groin added softly, bringing the table to silence.

            “ _Please_ share it,” Balin begged.

            “Carolyn,” Fundin said, nodding to the woman who had, so far, sat silently taking notes.

            “Carolyn?” Dwalin turned a shocked view to his secretary, but she didn’t meet his look.

            “As Mister Farinson stated,” Carolyn started, “most of these accounts were not directly involved or even aware of their involvement in Mister Durin’s activities. Therefore, we were able to issue them updated and accurate invoices and blame the discrepancies on computer or input error. Also, Durin and Sons promised to … compensate them for any lost revenue because of the errors.”

            “How many?” Gloin asked, hopefully.

            “Out of the original two-hundred and thirty-seven,” Carolyn answered. “Two-hundred and twenty-five accounts.”

            “Ninety-five percent,” Gimli quickly doing the math in his head.

            “How much will it cost us in compensation?” Balin asked.

            “Approximately eighty-two million pounds,” Carolyn said casually.

            Dis heard Bilbo suppress a gasp and whisper out hoarsely, “Eighty-two million?!” She had to suppress a giggle; Bilbo was too cute.

            Thorin caught Dis’ eye and winked at her before leaning over and whispering to Bilbo, “Our total assets are around ten billion pounds, a billion of that is reserve; that eighty-two million is a small price to pay to clean most of this mess up.”

            Bilbo looked a little startled but nodded. Dis couldn’t help but smile; Bilbo was a very normal, very monetarily simple person. Thorin needed that, he needed an anchor like Bilbo Baggins in this crazy world of theirs; just as she had Vili and Dwalin had Ori. It suddenly dawned on her—Frerin’s ultimate decision might have been because he had not only lost his love but, with her, the anchor that grounded him.

            “I hate to point out,” Fundin interjected bring Dis and everyone else back to reality of the situation, “That there are twelve remaining accounts that were actively involved in these dealings; some of our most wealthy and revenue earning accounts.”

            “What’s the strategy for dealing with them?” Fris asked.

            “As if you have any clue,” Thrain said under his breath but loud enough for all to hear; the sneer heard in his voice rather than seen.

            “Shut up!” Fundin snapped, throwing Thrain a dangerous look.

            “Don’t fucking talk to me like—”

            “I SAID SHUT UP!” Fundin growled out, reaching down and grabbing Thrain by the collar and tie. “It’s because of your arrogance and that we are all in the fucking mess to begin with!” Fundin released Thrain but both men glared daggers at each other for long seconds before Fundin finally turned back to the rest of the table. “Now … to answer Fris’ question, we have already been in contact with the remaining companies and individuals. We have told them that the upper executives are now aware of the situation and that going forward from today, all questionable activities will cease. They were given the option of abiding by the law and continuing with us, or walking away.”

            “Have you _any fucking clue_ what that will cost us?!” Thrain demanded.

            “Whatever it cost monetarily,” Fundin said evenly, “won’t compare to what we save in our dignity and integrity.”

            “What a load of shit!” Thrain threw out and sat back in his chair like a petulant child.

            “Be that as it may,” Fundin continued, once again addressing the rest of room, “The companies on the list have all already agreed and are staying on board.  They assured us that any activities one their end were the work of rogue individuals, and like us today, are dealing with them.  They understand that their company's protection is paramount.  But, there are three private individual accounts on our list of twelve, and strangely,” Fundin said with clear sarcasm, “like our president, they are rather arrogant and believe themselves above all this—”

            “Fuck you,” Thrain said.

            “—they do, however,” Fundin ignored Thrain completely, “understand that their future hinges on the outcome of this meeting.”

            “What other outcome can there be,” Gimli asked, confused, “if we have already informed them that we are not going to be continuing any illegal activities?”

            “I would think,” Fundin said with a small indulgent smile to Gimli, “that it should be fairly obvious to all; we must now decide on new leadership for the company.”

            “You mother-fuckers!” Thrain said, jumping to his feet and getting in Fundin’s face. “This is been your plan all along; you and Groin! You want the money for yourselves! Just like your father—a whinny, candy-arse, back stabber!”

            “Why you—” Groin charged out his seat and reached for Thrain but Fundin, the larger and stronger of the three men, stood between the other two and effectively kept them apart. The room erupted with shouting and accusations; it threatened to descent into chaos but Fundin took charge of the situation quickly.

            “ENOUGH!” Fundin bellowed, struggling but holding his ground firmly. “Sit down; both of you!”

            It took a few minutes; Gloin and Gimli had to pull Groin back down to his seat, and Fundin finally got Thrain to sit, but eventually the room quieted down.

            “Uncle Fundin is right,” Thorin said. “It’s time for new management.”

            “You’ve always wanted to replace me!” Thrain pointed a finger at Thorin. “You’ve been working with these two!”

            “I only wish I had,” Thorin sneered.

            “Thorin’s not been involved with this at all,” Fris said.

            “What do you know of it?” Thrain’s condescension of his wife was clear on his face.

            “More than you think,” Fris stated coolly.

            Thrain suddenly understood. “You were the one to help them, weren’t you?!”

            Fris raised an elegantly sculptured eyebrow but it was the Mona Lisa smile that proved Thrain correct.

            “You fucking bitch!” Thrain spat out.

            Fris just laughed. “Really, darling, after all these years—is that the best you can come up with?”

            Before Thrain could take it further, Dis finally stepped in. “All right; save it for the divorce proceedings, we need to settle the question of leadership.” She was mad, not at her mother, but at the fact that her father, once again with his actions, had now jeopardized the company and, in turn, her family and children’s futures. “I’d like to start right now, and nominate Uncle Fundin for president and chairman of the board.”

            “I second that,” Thorin stated with a glare at this father.

            “I believe we only need one senior vice president,” Dwalin said with cocky smirk. “Therefore I nominate Uncle Groin as Senior VP.”

            “I second that,” Balin said, giving his brother a nod.

            “Since Thorin is leaving,” Gloin said firmly, “and if we are going to one Senior VP, then maybe we should have two Juniors—so, I’d like to nominate Dwalin and Dis to those positions.”

            “I second that,” Fris said.

            “I think we should vote on these as one item,” Groin stated.

            “You can’t do that!” Thrain spat out, clearly knowing he was on borrowed time. “I’m still president and chairman of the board!”

            “While that maybe true, in the past,” Fundin said quietly. “If the percentage of those voting are more than the president’s, the board can override any decision—including it’s own rules.”

            The board had been set up so that the president and the vice presidents always had the majority of the vote; it had been done to ensure that senior executives could and did usually drive the policies and decisions of the company. Only a very divisive or damaging policy or decision would split the executives. Before this meeting, Thrain, Fundin and Groin had always voted together, so if Thorin, as he often did, didn’t agree with his father, his vote alone wasn’t enough to override. But Dis realized that today was finally the day the old corporate ladder was coming down.

            “We have a motion to vote on all these nominations as one item,” Fundin said. “How does the board vote; all those in favor?”

            Every board member raised their hands; except Thrain.

            “All those opposed?”

            Thrain didn’t even bother voting.

            “The ‘ayes’ have it,” Fundin stated without satisfaction. “We will vote on this as one item; the immediate and permanent removal of Thrain Durin from the executive branch of the company—”

            “Now wait just a damn—”

            “—and the nominations for his replacement as well as the restructuring and promotions of the nominated parties. How does the board vote; all those in favor?”

            Once again, every board member, save Thrain, raised their hands in agreement.

            “The ‘ayes’ have it,” Fundin said softly, exhaling a breath as if he had been holding it the entire meeting.

            “I’ll get you for this!” Thrain snarled as he stood, pointing an accusing finger at Fundin and Groin. “Don’t think I won’t find a way—”

            “Give it up, old man,” Thorin stated. “You’ve lost.”

            Thrain turned a murderous eye on his son. “Don’t act all high and mighty with me you fucking piece of shit! Just because you and that penniless faggot—” Thrain gestured at Bilbo.

            “Leave him out it!” Thorin shot back.

            But Thrain was enraged and instantly surged forward, knocking Carolyn out of the way. Dwalin rushed to help her up but that left a clear, direct path between father and son; Thrain took that advantage and advanced on Thorin.

            “You were never more than a disappointment! I deserved a better son, someone worthy of myself, but instead I got saddled with you; a low-life queer and a cripple to boot!”

            It was sudden, it was violent but it _wasn’t_ Thorin.

            Thorin had readied for whatever fight was coming, but as he reached to pull Bilbo behind him, Thrain called Thorin a cripple and Bilbo stepped forward. With a closed fist, Bilbo backhanded Thrain, catching him across the face, causing the older man to fall against the table, loose his footing and land on the floor.

            Every person in the room went silent.

            It only took seconds for Thrain to recover enough for him to turn over and stare up at Bilbo; Bilbo’s expression one of furious contempt, while Thrain wore a face that Dis was stunned to see—never before had Thrain appeared so shocked and apprehensive, because no one had ever raised a hand to Thrain Durin in his life.

            No one, that is, until Bilbo Baggins.

            Both men stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, before Bilbo finally broke the silence.

            “Don’t you _ever_ , say that to Thorin again,” Bilbo whispered and Thrain could only blink back, breathing in and out raggedly as blood slowly dripped form his nose and split lip.

            Without another word, Bilbo turned around, hooked his arm through Thorin’s free one and the two of them left the room quietly. With only Thrain’s breathing being heard for a few long moments more, Dwalin then escorted Carolyn out; the older woman none the worse for wear. After that, everyone began to leave; no one of course stopped to help Thrain up.

            Outside, Dis walked over to Dwalin as Carolyn thanked him for helping her and moved off to speak with Fundin. Fris was speaking with Thorin and Bilbo and while Thorin didn’t look very happy, he wasn’t saying anything against her either. Fris was looking at Bilbo’s hand and Dis overheard her mother make a comment about getting ice, to which Thorin stated they would wait in his office.

            “So,” Dis whispered to Dwalin, “not the average board meeting.”

            Dwalin chuckled at that. “No shit.”

            “What do you make of it all?”

            “Not sure yet; it’s a lot to take in,” Dwalin said as he turned and gave Dis a shit-eating grin, “Madam Vice President.”

            Dis rolled her eyes. “Stick it.”

            Dwalin laughed again and then his attention diverted to watch Thorin and Bilbo walk away.

            “You know,” Dwalin said quietly, “I wasn’t sure about Bilbo before.”

            “And now?” Dis asked.

            Dwalin gave her a cheeky grin. “Now, after that punch? I like him.”

            Dis had to agree.

 

 

 


	20. MONDAY (Noon) - The Eye of the Storm

* * *

****

            Dwalin was waiting in the lobby when Ori breezed through the front doors.  He couldn’t help but smile to himself; had it really only been two weeks?  Well, a fortnight, actually, since he’d met the young artist and designer, and he could only marvel at how much his life had changed in such a short time; for the better in Dwalin’s opinion. 

            “Hello, love,” Ori said, as he was pulled into a tight, bear hug.

            Dwalin planted a quick kiss on Ori’s cheek before they pulled apart; he didn’t care who was there or who saw.  Dwalin also couldn’t help but tease a little, as he whispered in Ori’s ear, “There’s a bit of a surprise for you.”

            “For _me_?” Ori said uncertainly.

            “Guess who’s upstairs.” Dwalin smirked.

            Ori was silent for a second and then gasped a little.  “Is Bilbo here?!”

            “Yep.”

            “How does he look?”

            “You’ll see in a minute.”  Dwalin took Ori’s hand and led him towards the lifts.

            “How was the board … thingy, by the way?”  Ori asked.  Dwalin had called Ori right after getting his father’s email, to either cancel or postpone their lunch; Ori’s choice.  Ori had laughed and said that of course it would be postponed; he wasn’t giving up lunch with Dwalin unless the city was on fire.

            “You won’t believe the shit that went down.”

            “What kind of shit?” Ori sounded worried.

            “Well, for one,” Dwalin said quietly, “you’re dating one of the two new Junior Vice Presidents of Durin and Sons.”

            “Oh my, God!  Congratulations!”

            “Thank you.”

            “I take it Thorin is the other one?” Ori asked.  “Oh wait … he already is one isn’t he?”

            “He _was_.” Dwalin almost laughed at the look on Ori’s face.

            “Did he get promoted up?”

            They reached the lifts and no sooner had Dwalin hit the button, than the doors opened.  “No.”

            Ori looked very confused and Dwalin wondered if he could explain it all quickly on the way up; he’d give it a try anyway.  By the time the ride to the top floor was over and the lift doors opened, Dwalin thought he’d covered the basics pretty well.

            Ori just shook his head as they stepped out of the lift.  “I can’t believe it!” he said.

            “It’s pretty fucked up,” Dwalin nodded.

            “How did your dad and uncle _even know_ to start looking?”  Ori sounded amazed.

            “According to Carolyn,” Dwalin stated, “the night Aunt Fris left Thrain, she told Uncle Groin that she suspected he was doing inappropriate activities.  Groin then told her that Thrain had made a few unguarded comments during his fight with him and dad on Wednesday night and that had already led them to believe the same.  So, come Thursday morning, dad asked Carolyn to try and get information from Thrain’s secretary, while Aunt Fris was able to sneak some files from Thrain’s home office when she went back Thursday to get more of her things.  It just snowballed from there.”

            Ori breathed out, adjusting his saddlebag towards his back.  “I can’t wait to get Bilbo’s side of all this.”

            As the rounded the corner to Thorin’s office, Dwalin caught sight of Aunt Fris leaving, but she was moving away and she was too far to call out a ‘good-bye’.  He figured he’d see her later.

            “You won’t have to wait long,” Dwalin replied as he threw an arm around Ori’s shoulders and steered them both towards Thorin’s office.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            After the meeting was over, Dis had followed Dwalin and Carolyn out of the conference room; Fundin right behind her.  Once Carolyn had convinced Dwalin she was fine, Dwalin went off to call Ori; Dis had no doubt that Ori would be over quick as a flash.  Dis watched Carolyn chat with Fundin, their hushed voices unheard from her position and distance.  Although she couldn’t swear to it, there was something in their mannerisms that struck her as … well, _odd._   She couldn’t put her finger on it.  She made a mental note to ask Dwalin about it later.   

            Thorin and Bilbo were walking away, heading back to Thorin’s office, as Fris went to get the ice that Bilbo would need; even from several feet away, she could see that Bilbo’s hand was swollen and would probably bruise before the hour was out. 

            As Carolyn make her exit, Dis was witness to Groin escorting Thrain out of the conference room and handing him over to the two large security guards that were standing nearby; clearly having been summoned for the end of the meeting.

            “Are they escorting him out of the building?” Dis asked as she walked over to her uncles.

            “To his office,” Groin said.

            “He’ll be allowed to gather his personal items,” Fundin clarified, “but not any files or documents.”  Fundin still sounded  angry and Dis wondered whether it was just anger over what her father had done to the company, anger that the company’s fate now fell to Fundin to try and save, or whether it was just that Thrain had betrayed his family, for nothing more than _more_ money.

            Of course, in all likelihood, it was everything combined.

            “Do you really think there are more accounts involved?” Dis asked quietly.

            “Yes,” Groin said matter-of-factly.

            “I don’t doubt,” Fundin added softly, “that when all is said and done, we will find some very ugly and disturbing skeletons in Thrain’s closet.”

            Dis hated to agree, but couldn’t argue the point; her father had already proven how well he used subterfuge to hide his actions; there had to be more hidden away.

            “Dis,” Fundin said.  “If you will excuse us, I need to speak with your Uncle Groin alone.”

            She got the hint.  “Of course,” Dis said, giving both men a soft smile.  “I want to go see Thorin anyway.”

            “I’ll join you there soon,” Fundin replied as Dis headed toward her brother’s office and the two men slipped back into the conference room for their private tête-à-tête. 

            It was just as well; she had much to think about—not the least of which was her promotion.  With the inevitable fall out from her father’s actions, coupled with greater responsibilities at work and Thorin’s absence from Durin and Sons, all of which she weighed against Fili’s upcoming appointment, probable long-term treatment and obvious need for a greater presence of both parents in his life, Dis couldn’t help but wonder if she could really accept the new position? 

            Or better yet; _should_ she? 

            She had never been one to shy away from work or responsibility, but she had come to realize just how important family was these last few weeks, and frankly, if it came down to work or family—well, she knew which one she would choose.

            However, she had to wonder, would giving up the promotion send the wrong signal to her sons?  That a woman had to sacrifice her life and work?  Would she be setting them up to accept society’s view that women couldn’t have it all?  That was one lesson she wanted her boys to learn and learn early; women were equals, not inferiors.

            But then again, hadn’t Vili already done that?  Given up his career as an educator to home-school the boys and be a stay at home dad?  Was it really fair, then for her to refuse to do the same when the need arised?  Was letting her husband make such a sacrifice but she not, also sending the wrong signal to her boys?

            Dis came to a dead-stop right in the hallway.

            She huffed out a sigh and almost shook her head to clear it.  It was too much—all of it was just too much, and honestly, she wasn’t going to make a snap decision, either way, which she might come to regret later.  She would wait; she might talk to Andy, maybe to Thorin, probably her mother, but definitely to Vili. 

            Yes, she and Vili would make a decision together; they were partners in this life.  The one thing she absolutely refused to do was follow her father’s example, and be dismissive of her partner's needs and feelings.

            Taking a deep breath, she started back on her course to Thorin’s office, which was a good thing; she arrived just as Thorin and their mother were squaring off.

            “—think I can handle it,” Thorin said with a scowl on his face and taking what looked like a sealed, plastic bag of ice from her hands.

            “I never insinuated that you couldn’t, Thorin,” Fris said softly.  “I just wanted to help; it’s clear that Bilbo’s hand—”

            “Bilbo, is it?” Thorin ground out.  “Awfully quick to use his given name, aren’t you?”

            Dis should have known not to leave them alone this soon.  “I call him Bilbo,” Dis added as she walked in, trying to lighten the mood.

            “True,” Thorin said.  “But then you didn’t have a hand in deceiving him, either.”

            “Thorin,” Fris sounded a bit desperate.  “You must know how sorry I—”

            “All I know,” Thorin spat out, “is how sorry you were, _after_ you got caught!”  Fris was clearly taken aback, but Thorin continued on.  “You sat back, knowing of the lies Thrain told and never once did you think about what hurt and pain he was causing—”

            “You’re wrong.  I did worry about—”

            “But you did nothing!  Never once did you contact Bilbo and tell him the truth!”

            “It all happened so quickly.”

            “Maybe in the beginning, but what about later?!  There’s no excuse for your inaction; your apathy!”

            “I was never apathetic, Thorin.  Believe me when—”

            “I can only believe what I see, and I see a woman who turned a blind eye to the suffering of an innocent man!”

            “I’m sorry, Thorin; truly I am.”

            “Thorin, it’s over now,” Bilbo tried to calm Thorin.  “It’s fine.  It’s okay.”

            He failed.

            “It’s not fine!” Thorin barked out.  “And it’ll never be, _‘okay!’_ “ Thorin was gearing up and Dis knew something ugly was coming.  “Not to mention,” Thorin said with a sneer, “I’m not the one she needs to apologize to; I’m not the one that almost died alone on a bathroom floor!”  With quick, fluid motions, Thorin turned Bilbo right arm over in his hand and pulled back the long white sleeve of Bilbo’s shirt so that all could see three pale white scars that ran diagonally across one of Bilbo’s inner wrists.

            Oh, God.

            Dis couldn’t even say a word; she was so stunned, and Bilbo seemed to struggle to swallow, but Fris looked as if Thorin has physically slapped her across the face.

            Reaching out a shaky hand, gently placing it over the scars on Bilbo’s wrist, Fris whispered hoarsely, “Bilbo, I’m very—”

            “It was my choice,” Bilbo cut in, placing his free hand over Fris’.  “It was a desperate one, a poor one, but still my choice.  If I was to blame anyone else, it would be Thrain.”  Dis watched Bilbo squeeze Fris’ hand tighter.  “But I don’t blame you.”

            “You should,” Thorin growled out, just loud enough to be heard.

            “Sweetheart,” Bilbo said, turning to Thorin, “Please, let it go. I don’t—” 

            “Thorin’s right,” Fris stated, grabbing Bilbo’s attention.  “I made a choice too, a poor one as well … but unlike you, I have no one else to blame.”  Fris and Bilbo released each other.  Fris put on her suit jacket and turned to Thorin.  “But you’re wrong about one thing, Thorin.  I most certainly do feel shame for having been a part of your father’s schemes.  I can only hope, that at some point, you can allow me to make amends for the things I’ve done.”

            Thorin gave no response; keeping his gaze turned away from his mother.

            “Thank you,” Bilbo said, “for the ice.”

            “You’re more than welcome,” Fris said with a small smile and turned to give Dis a hug.

            “I’ll call you later,” Dis whispered.

            “Please, do,” Fris said as they parted.  At the door, Fris tried once more.  “Good-bye, Thorin.”  After several long seconds without a reply from her son, Fris quietly left the office.

            Silence hung thickly in the air for a few moments longer until Dis broke it.  “Thorin—”

            “Don’t,” Thorin said firmly, stopping his sister.  Thorin pulled Bilbo to him and once again, place the bag of ice on his hand.  Thorin scowled down at the ice like it had personally offended Bilbo.  Thorin words, however, were still directed at his sister.  “Forgive her, if you want, but I can’t.”

            _No, of course you can’t,_ Dis thought. _Not right now.  But like her, I can hope that someday you will._

            Anything else that might be said on the subject was completing lost in the next moment.

            “Bilbo!” Ori said, coming in quickly.

            “Hey there!” Bilbo said with a huge smile. 

            Bilbo moved out of Thorin’s embrace and immediately, both young men were laughing as they hugged tightly.  Dis couldn’t help but smile at the obvious affection the two friends held for each other; as close as two people could be and not be family or lovers.   Dis noticed Dwalin giving the two men a smile; clearly fondly amused at their warmth and ease with each other. 

            But Thorin was a different story; to Dis he looked almost suspicious and mildly irritated as he watched over the young men, and Dis couldn’t figure out why.  It couldn’t possibly be jealousy and she didn’t believe for a second that Thorin would deny Bilbo friends and close relationships beyond his and Thorin’s, so what was it that had Thorin so— _angry_?  That was the only word she could think of for the dark look in Thorin’s eyes.

            It didn’t make any sense and luckily, she appeared to be the only one to see it.

            “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” Ori stated as he and Bilbo separated.

            “It’s been all of five days,” Bilbo pointed out with a smirk.

            “Yeah, five days,” Ori repeated.  “Wednesday night when you rushed off with Dis, in tears and then all I’ve heard from you this entire time were a couple of text, _‘We’re fine!’_ ”

            “Hey,” Bilbo said defensively but with obvious good nature, “You didn’t go out of your way to contact me when you went off with Dwalin on your weekend.”

            “Yes I did!”

            “No, you called me to complain when I hadn’t told you the whole story.”

            “Well,” Ori snarked back, “this situation is totally different and you know it!”

            “I fail to see the difference,” Bilbo replied with a shrug.

            “Seriously,” Ori said with a huff.  “Five days and all I get is ‘We’re fine.’  I get more concrete information from a fortune cookie.”

            Bilbo laughed out loud at that and to Dis it sounded almost musical.  “But we _are_ fine!”  Bilbo turned and smiled at Thorin.  “Aren’t we, sweetheart?”

            Thorin didn’t smile and simply raised an eyebrow.  “Some of us are fine,” he said as he stepped up to Bilbo and took his injured hand.  “Others, not so much; you need to leave the ice on.”

            “But it hurts,” Bilbo replied.

            “Of course it hurts,” Thorin throwing his free arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and again, pulling him into an almost possessive embrace.  “You punched someone in the face.”

            “Dwalin told me about that,” Ori said with serious nod.  “I’m almost jealous; wish I had had the chance the other night!”

            “Don’t joke, Ori,” Thorin said. 

            “Why not?”  Dwalin said with a deep chuckle.  “I think Bilbo was brilliant!” Dwalin gave Bilbo a wink.  “Thrain’s face was fucking hilarious!”

            “It’s not funny!” Thorin growled.  “Bilbo could have been seriously hurt; he _was_ hurt!”

            “One hand,” Dwalin said, unconvinced.

            “His writing hand,” Ori interjected, “to be specific.”  Ori said nod.  “Thorin’s right really, it’s not funny, it could have been worse.”

            “Oh, please,” Bilbo said softly, “I’m fine.”

            “You’re not,” Thorin said with scowl.  “I still can’t figure out what you were thinking!”

            “I wasn’t thinking, to be honest,” Bilbo confessed.  “I just … it was instinct.”

            “Give the guy his due,” Dwalin said, giving Bilbo another wink. 

            “Thank you,” Bilbo said, giving Dwalin a sweet smile. 

            “It was a bloody good punch,” Dwalin continued, “and a well deserved one I might add, seeing what Thrain put him through.”

            “That isn’t _the point_ ,” Thorin countered with a glare at Dwalin.  “Thrain is a hell of lot bigger than Bilbo, and despite his age, if he had gotten a hold of Bilbo first, he could have really done some damage!”

            “Well, he didn’t,” Bilbo pointed out.

            “Except for your hand,” Ori added dryly.

            “Thank you, Ori,” Thorin said.

            “I mean,” Ori continued on, “kind of hard for a writer _to write_ when his dominant hand is bashed and bruised.”

            “Another excellent point,” Thorin smirked.  “Thank you, again.”

            “Honestly,” Bilbo sighed.

            “You two,” Dwalin said with a glance between Ori and Thorin.  “Couple of killjoys.”

            “Exactly,” Bilbo said with a nod Dwalin.

            Through the whole exchange, Dis had to struggle not to burst out laughing.  To see Thorin and Ori in agreement was almost as amusing as seeing Dwalin and Bilbo as sudden mates on the same issue!  But Dis figured it had gone on long enough, lest it end with everyone upset and pissed off.

            “Let’s call a truce,” Dis said, holding up her hands and silencing the men in the room.  “While we can all understand Bilbo’s reaction to the situation and it might be viewed as amusing to some, I believe we can all agree that it’s just lucky it wasn’t worse than an injured hand.  However, as it was pointed out, it’s over, and I think it’s best to move on from here.”

            That seemed to cover all the bases of the argument and while Thorin didn’t look like he wanted to give up the fight, all four men did nod.

            “Now,” Dis said with a smirk and a light tone, “I have a much more important matter to discuss with our Mister Baggins.”  Bilbo looked surprised at that, while the others simply looked questioning and waited for Dis, who had only two words for Bilbo.  “William-Robert?”

            The reaction from Bilbo and Ori was instantaneous.

            “Oh, God!” Ori said scrunching up his face as if pained.

            “Ori!” Bilbo spat out.

            “What?!”

            “Why did you tell her, _Orlando_?!”

            “I never said a word, honest!” Ori hissed insistently.  “And don’t call me that!”

            “Then how did she—”

            “I found it online,” Dis cut in.  “In a …” she didn’t want to say Nori’s obituary, “… obscure article.”

            “Christ,” Bilbo breathed out.

            “See,” Ori said pointedly.  “I didn’t tell her.”

            “What the hell is, ‘ _William-Robert_ ’?” Thorin asked.

            Bilbo sighed heavily again.  “It’s my birth name.”

            That stunned Thorin, who asked in a low, incredulous voice, “You mean ... Bilbo isn’t your name?”

            “It is,” Bilbo said, “And yet … it isn’t.”

            “Care to be more _specific_?” Thorin groused.

            “Well,” Bilbo started.  “Nicknames are a Baggins tradition.  My Grandfather’s brother was named Longfellow, but everyone called him Longo, and you don’t even want to know my father, Bungo’s, real name!”  Almost everyone laughed that except Bilbo and Thorin.  “So, my parents followed tradition and came up with Bilbo … Bil from William and Bo from Robert.” Bilbo started gesturing with his hands and Thorin had to struggle to keep the ice on Bilbo’s injury.  “I hated it!  All the kids made fun of me, but no matter how I tried to get my parents to call me William or Will or even … _Billy_ , they continued to call me Bilbo.” Bilbo paused and a somber look passed over his face.  “Then I went to live with Lobelia … she too hated Bilbo.  She thought it frivolous and _‘Bourgeois’_ … totally forgetting, of course, that her husband and son had nicknames too; Otho is really named Othello, and their son is, Othello Junior or ‘Little Othello’, and that morphed into Lotho.”

            “Seriously?” Dis asked.

            “That’s fucked up,” Dwalin said shaking his head. 

            Ori knew all this but still commented, “And you thought Bilbo was bad.”

            “At first I was glad,” Bilbo continued on, “I figured I was finally rid of the nickname.  However, Lobelia insisted on calling me my _full name_ , William-Robert.”  Bilbo took a breath and seemed to be lost in his memories for a moment.  “After eight years of hearing her scream, _William-Robert, William-Robert, William-Robert_ , at me left, right and centre … especially when …” Bilbo paused again and swallowed thickly.  “… especially when she would … beat me; believe me when I say, that I was ever so happy to get to university; I started using Bilbo again, and by that time, it was more than a rebellion against Lobelia, the name held so much of what I had lost with my parents.”

            Everyone was quiet as Bilbo’s story sunk in.  Dwalin and Ori shared a sad look but didn’t hold it, while Dis felt a little bad for bring up the subject, regardless of not knowing anything of the circumstances.  Bilbo wore an expression of resignation, while only Dis noticed that Thorin, once again, looked angry and disgruntled.  Maybe, like her, he was angry she had brought it up but there was a color to his cheeks that seemed to tell her that it was more than that.  Sadly, though, Thorin didn’t look like he was in the mood for sharing.

            “I thought about legally changing my name,” Bilbo continued.  “But it wasn’t cheap and during university I had more pressing matters to pay for.  Finally, when I graduated, all my documents, my diplomas, my certificates … everything, had William-Robert on them, so it was a bit late.  I just vowed to never use it, accept when absolutely necessary.”

            “Like when you write?” Dis questioned, remembering the story Liddy showed her in House Proud Magazine.

            Bilbo nodded.  “I use my initials.  It’s nice in a way, because I’m not using the full name but it leaves me a bit … anonymous.  I’ve never wanted to be famous, just a writer.”

            “I was just curious,” Dis said with a smile.  “And it doesn’t matter really; like The Bard said, ‘ _What’s in a name?_ ’”

            “Apparently a long history of abuse,” Thorin said quietly, still looking angry and not meeting anyone’s gaze.  Bilbo looked disquieted but said nothing; what was there to say? 

            However, while Dis was more than willing, and quite prepared, to call Thorin out on his attitude, her uncle chose that moment to join them.

            “Sorry I’m late,” Fundin said, coming through the door with barely a knock.  “Had a few things I wanted to go over with Groin.”  He came up to Ori and kissed the young man on his forehead.  “And how is my future son-in-law today?”

            “Ah, DAD!” Dwalin said, scrunching up his face while Ori just giggled.

            “If you mean me,” Ori said, playing innocent.  “Then I’m well.”

            “Of course I meant you,” Fundin said seriously.  “Certainly not speaking of any of the other tossers my son used to date.”

            “Somebody cut his tongue out,” Dwalin griped.

            “Thorin,” Fundin said, turning his attention to his figurative nephew.  “Your Uncle Groin and I would like to make you a counter offer.”

            Thorin and Bilbo exchanged a perplexed look, before Thorin asked, “What offer?”

            Fundin took a deep breath.  “We are fully behind you needing time,” Fundin said, looking between Thorin and Bilbo, who he gave a soft smile to.  “After all that you and Bilbo have been through, it’s more than understandable.”  At that, Fundin reached out a hand and gently squeezed Thorin’s shoulder.  “However, we would like you to consider taking a Senior Vice Presidency position.”

            Thorin heaved a sigh.  “Uncle Fundin, I don’t know when or even _if_ I will be back.”

            “Again,” Fundin continued, “we understand that your future … at present … is unknown.  And we are not pushing you.  But we want you to know that we are going to be taking the company in new directions and we want you to be a big part of that if you’re willing.”

            “What new directions?” Dis asked.

            “The old way was just that, old,” Fundin answered.  “We want new ideas, new way of doing things, we want to bring the business forward, not only in terms of management, but into a more … hands on, personalized way.  We don’t want to see what Thrain did happen again.  Companies are going want to see change when all this goes public, and first thing to do is make sure they know we have their interest in mind, not ours.”

            “So it is going to go public?” Ori asked; maybe a little fearful.

            “No way around,” Fundin said with resignation.

            “Also,” Bilbo interjected, “this is the Communication Age, the average person can have their whole life splashed across the internet, so there will no possible way to keep this quiet.”

            “Not to mention,” Dwalin stated, “there is no way we could sit on this without getting into huge legal trouble.”

            “If we try to hide this from the authorities,” Thorin added, “we are almost guaranteed to be charged as accessories to Thrain.”

            “I’m not going to prison for that bastard,” Dwalin stated outright.

            “Oh, God!” Ori said, wrapping his arms tight around one of Dwalin’s.  “Just the thought of that!”

            “Hang him out to dry, if you want my two cents,” Dis said crossing her arms.

            “Hang him, period,” Thorin said with a sneer.  “He clearly didn’t give a rat’s-arse for any of us or the company, only himself.  The greedy fucker deserves what he gets.”

            “We also have to be prepared,” Fundin commented, “that we will be losing a good deal of business when this gets out.”

            “What are you estimating?” Dis asked; she’d be surprised if Fundin didn’t already have numbers to her question and probably a few names of companies that would jump ship.

            “Gloin and Gimli are crunching numbers right now,” Fundin replied.  “But Groin and I did a preliminary and … if it goes the way we think … we are looking at twenty-five to thirty percent loss of revenue.”

            “Shit,” Dwalin spat out.

            “God-dammit,” Thorin growled, looking murderous. 

            “This is a fucking nightmare,” Dis added with a shake of her head. 

            “I’m sorry,” Fundin said quietly.  “Let me clarify.  That was twenty-five to thirty percent … in the first few months.”

            “What?!” Thorin really did look like he was going to murder someone; Dis had a good idea who.

            Fundin only nodded.  “We predict that once the dust settles, we could be faced with a forty percent loss.”

            There was nothing said at that point.  The impact of Thrain’s actions was always going to be harsh, but these numbers told Dis that it could well be devastating.

            “Our competitors will smell blood in the water,” Dis said quietly.

            “We are hoping to stay privately owned,” Fundin stated.  “However, may well be forced to go public or break up the company.  If that happens, then yes, the chances of being taken over are almost assured.”

            “We could all end up working for Gundabad Investments,” Dwalin said.

            “Fuck that,” Thorin spat.  “I’d rather go it alone.”

            “We may all have to go it alone,” Dis stated flatly.

            “Think of all the innocent people that will lose their jobs,” Ori said.

            Fundin sighed heavily.  “No way around that, I’m afraid.  We won’t be able to absorb the loss of revenue without cutting staff; it’s inevitable.”

            “Too bad you don’t have a subsidiary company to shuffle them to,” Ori added. “Like the magazine publishers do; shuffle them to smaller or struggling magazines.”

            Fundin smiled at that.  “Not enough time to set up new, smaller companies.”

            “No,” Bilbo said quietly but with a clear, contemplative tone, “but you could rebrand.”

            “What do you mean?” Thorin asked.

            “Well,” Bilbo said, “before I started at _House Proud_ , the magazine was called something else.”

            “Oh yeah,” Ori stated.  “I heard about that.  Something stupid or other.”

            Bilbo nodded in agreement.  “It was called, ‘ _Gay_ _Home_ ’ or ‘ _Gay Homelife_ ’, or something equally forgetable,” Bilbo clarified.  “It lacked the marketing … pizzazz, that _House Proud_ had.   From what I had heard, the publishing company was actually thinking of pulling the plug on the whole thing, but at the eleventh hour, they brought on Bard Bowman as editor and he was the one that suggested the new name and set a whole new direction for the magazine.”

            “How does that help us?” Dwalin asked.

            “In a way,” Bilbo stated, “you’ve already got yourself a new ‘ _editor’_ so to speak,” he gestured to Fundin, “and as your father said, you're already setting a new direction for the company.  What you may need to do is rebrand the company and spin it with the media.”

            “Spin it?” Fundin sounded intrigued and gave Bilbo his full attention.

            “As was said,” Bilbo continued, “there is no way to keep this private.  And in this day and age, it will be all over the media and internet before you can say, Bob’s your Uncle.  Your best bet is to have some well prepared press releases that will show the public that the company is moving to better days and a brighter future.  Yes … you will have to throw Thrain to the wolves, or kick him to the curb, or throw him under the bus … take your pick of metaphor, but since he brought this on himself, Thorin’s right … it’s really what he deserves.”

            “How does a rebranding or name change help?” Dis asked.

            “It will be tangible proof that you are moving beyond the old ways and Thrain,” Bilbo stated.  “Besides, _Durin and Sons_ always did sound a bit …”

            “Like a men’s department store,” Ori quipped.

            Bilbo giggled.  “I was going to say ‘old fashioned’, but either way, you get the point.”

            “But changing a company’s name will cost a lot of money,” Thorin threw out.

            “True,” Bilbo said, “but it will still be a hell of a lot cheaper when compared to the loss of revenue you're facing; some of which may be saved because of the change.  And believe me, if you want to minimize your loss, the companies that stay will want to see real change.”

            “But real change is more than a name,” Thorin stated.

            “That’s true too,” Bilbo said, “But you’ve already made real change; Thrain’s out and Fundin is in, Dwalin and Dis have been promoted … hell, Dis alone is a major change.”

            “Why me?” Dis said.

            Both Bilbo and Ori looked at her incredulously before Ori said, “How can you asked that?  You’re the first female vice president of this company from what Dwalin told me, and you’re already a major force in new business acquisition if I am not mistaken.”

            “You could become the spokesperson of the company,” Bilbo added softly.  “Someone strong who empowers the new direction.”

            “Me?” Dis looked like a deer in the headlights.

            “They have a good point,” Fundin stated.  “Durin and Sons not only sounds old fashioned, as Bilbo said, but in a way … a bit misogynistic; it was never Durin, Sons and _Daughter_ , was it?”

            “Dis could be the new face of …” Ori started.  “Well, whatever you call the company if you decide to change it.”

            “What _would_ they call it?” Bilbo said, almost to himself.

            Everyone was silent for a second before Ori brightened and stated, “Erebor.”

            “What?” Dwalin drawled.  “What does that even mean?”

            “You told me the family seat is Robere Hall, right?” Ori asked.

            “Yeah …” Dwalin replied.

            “Robere spelled backwards is E R E B O R … Erebor.”

            “But it doesn’t _mean_ anything,” Dwalin insisted.

            “Doesn’t have to,” Bilbo said.

            “Besides,” Ori picked back up, “’ _Ere_ ’ rhymes with ‘ _air_ ’; fresh, clean, clear … that sort of thing.”

            “But the second half is ‘ _bor_ ,’” Dwalin said.  “As in ‘ _boring_.’”

            “Look at your competition; Gundabad Investments,” Bilbo pointed out.  “They have the word ‘ _bad_ ’ in their name and yet they’re still a tough competitor.”

            “Besides, ‘ _bor_ ’ could come from the Norse God, Borr … Odin’s father,” Ori continued.  “And there is no denying that Norse sounding names run in the family.”

            “I like that,” Bilbo said with a sly smile.  “God-like, powerful.”

            “They’ll need a new logo,” Ori said quietly, not really to anyone else.

            “Something to do with the Norse theme, perhaps,” Bilbo commented.  Both he and Ori were in their own world now.

            “Something to do with strength,” Ori offered.

            “And endurance,” Bilbo said.  “Like Asgard itself.”

            “A mountain range, maybe.”

            “A single mountain might be better.”

            “Strong and independent.”

            “Would you use a photorealistic image?”

            “No.  Simple line art; keep it clean.”

            “Nice.”

            “Wording in black, block letters; easy to read, but again … strong.”

            “You’ll need the right font.”

            Ori nodded.

            “ _Impact_?”  Bilbo suggested.

            Ori shook his head.  “Too generic.”

            “ _Rockwell_?”

            “Kind of ‘American Western-ish.’”

            “What about _Showcard_?”

            “Too cartoony,” Ori stated.  “I leaning more towards _Eras Bold_.”

            Bilbo nodded and hummed agreement.  “Good choice.”

            “Thanks,” Ori blushed.  “They’ll need a good press release too, though.”

            “Already on it.”

            “What are you planning?”

            “Something positive; to the point; simple and clean like the logo.”

            “Right.”

            Suddenly both of them looked up, aware now that the rest of the room had gone completely silent.

            “Why aren’t these two on our PR team?” Fundin asked in all seriousness.

            “You can’t afford us,” Ori joked, and both he and Bilbo laughed at that.  Until that was, they realized Fundin wasn’t joking.

            “You want to bet?” Fundin asked.

            “Thank you,” Bilbo said, holding up a hand, “but I’ll stick to just writing your press releases; if you want, of course.”

            “I do,” Fundin said empathically.

            “I’ll have a couple of logos for you by the end of the day,” Ori said.

            “Wait, hang on,” Dwalin cut in.  “Nothing’s been decided yet!”

            “You have a better idea?” Fundin asked shooting his son a raised eyebrow.  When Dwalin had no answer, Fundin concluded, “I didn’t think so.  As far as I’m concerned, and I’m sure Groin will agree, the name change and Dis as the new spokesperson may be just what we need.”

            “You won’t be able to save all the accounts that want to jump ship,” Bilbo stressed, “but you may well be able to turn the tide to your favor.”

            “Again, I agree,” Fundin stated.  “Does anyone else have a different idea or want to add anything?”

            Dis wasn’t so sure about her being the new spokesperson, but she wasn’t opposed outright either—she needed to think it all over and discuss it with Vili; there was still Fili to think of.  She looked over at Dwalin but he shook his head; she knew he would do whatever it took. 

            When she looked at Thorin however, she saw a dark, angry look in his eyes.  What was the issue?  What was so wrong with the change?  Frankly, she thought he would welcome anything with open arms that did away with Thrain’s taint.  But here he was looking far from pleased.  He couldn’t possibly be angry that Bilbo had hit upon the idea and not himself?  Surely he wasn’t that selfish and prideful?  Then again, stranger things had happened.

            “Well, then,” Fundin said with a smirk.  “Since there is no opposition, I will speak with Groin and settle this matter.  Expect an email to go out to all the board for a digital vote.”

            They all nodded except Thorin. 

            “We need to get going,” Thorin said firmly.

            “Oh, right!” Bilbo said, tossing the ice pack aside and flexing his hand.  Dis could still see that it was bruising but at least Bilbo seemed to have more movement.  “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave.”

            “Late for what?” Dis asked.

            Bilbo blushed and glanced at Thorin who shared a soft smile with him.  “We’re going to see Dr Grey.”

            “You’re going to introduce him to Andy?” was the question asked by both Ori and Dis at the same time to Bilbo and Thorin respectively.  That stunned both questioners.

            “Wait,” Dis said to Bilbo.  “How do _you_ know Andy?!”

            “I would think the answer should be fairly obvious,” Bilbo said softly.

            “I think the bigger question,” Ori said, “is how _you_ know him!”

            “He’s been seeing …” Dis trailed off, not sure whether to tell about Thorin seeing Andy Grey or not.  But Bilbo came to her rescue.

            “I’ve seen Andy for the last two years,” Bilbo stated.  “I had no idea that Thorin was seeing him as well until this past weekend.”

            “No fucking way,” Dwalin smirked.  “Talk about small world.”

            “Indeed,” Fundin agreed.

            “Yes, well,” Thorin commented.  “Like I said, we need to get going.”

            Dis once again saw the dark look in Thorin’s eyes, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure it out.  _Thank goodness,_ she thought, _Bilbo doesn’t seem to notice._

            Fundin urged Thorin to consider the proposal of his coming back onboard as a second Senior VP.  Thorin again made no promise other than to think about it. 

            As Thorin and Bilbo said their good-byes, so too did Dwalin and Ori and both couples went their separate ways; Thorin and Bilbo to their shared appointment, Dwalin and Ori off to lunch and privacy most likely. 

            “Dis,” Fundin said quietly, holding her back.  “I can tell you have some reservations about all this.”

            She didn’t even try to pretend.  “I have a great deal on my plate right now and I’m not sure …”

            “Your mother told me about Fili,” Fundin whispered quietly. 

            “Oh, I see,” Dis wasn’t upset, in fact, she was more relieved.

            “To say I’m disgusted,” Fundin continued, “would be a grave understatement.  Just know that you have my and your Uncle Groin’s full support should you need anything at all.”

            “Thank you,” Dis said.  She really did adore her uncles.  But she saw something in Fundin’s eyes that made her ask, “Tell me, is this whole thing with Thrain, just about what he did, or is there more to it?”

            Fundin took a deep breath and sighed.  “I’d love to say no, but truth be told, to hear your father’s casual dismissal of Frerin’s death, see the utter contempt he holds for Thorin and Dwalin, his unbelievable abuse of Fili, I cannot say that there isn’t a part of me that isn’t taking a little pleasure in using this situation as the best possible means to strike back at him for what he’s done.”

            Dis couldn’t help but smile at that; she couldn’t blame him at all.  Who could?

            “And I think it’s rather ironic,” Fundin concluded with a little laugh, “That Ori and Bilbo … two people your father believed below his consideration, may well turn out to have hit upon the very idea that may save this company, and very likely the entire family.”

 

 

_**ORI'S LOGO FOR THE NEWLY REBRANDED, Durin and Sons.** _

 


	21. MONDAY - Interlude (Bilbo and Thorin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo are on their way to see Doctor Grey. Both are lost in their own thoughts - thoughts they should share with each other, if only they weren't blinded by the truth before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** WARNING - THIS CHAPTER HAS GRAPHIC SUICIDE IDEATION AND ATTEMPT**
> 
> PLEASE remember, that the ideas expressed here are from the CHARACTER'S POV, and are in NO WAY those shared by the authors! SUICIDE IS NEVER THE ANSWER - I beg everyone, if you feel you are so alone, PLEASE CALL SOMEONE - you are not alone! There many out there that WANT to help you!! PLEASE talk to someone before you make a desperate decision.
> 
> (At the bottom of this chapter there are numbers and websites to go to for help)

* * *

 

            As Thorin turned his car into traffic, Bilbo was lost in his own thoughts.

            The day hadn’t quite turned out the way he’d hoped.  He certainly hadn’t planned on going toe-to-toe with Thorin’s cousin, or punching Thorin’s father in the face—not that he didn’t feel a tiny bit of satisfaction at that—and he certainly hadn’t planned on throwing his scars in Thorin’s mother’s face.  Granted, that last one had been Thorin’s doing but Bilbo wouldn’t blame Thorin for it; he wouldn’t blame Thorin for anything really. 

            Wish Thorin had done it differently?

            Yes.

            But did he realize that Thorin was in pain over those scars?

            Of course he did; Bilbo will never forget Thorin’s distress and tears when they had gone over to Bilbo’s flat.

            No, the day wasn’t what he had expected, but that didn’t mean he would change much even if he could. 

            He knew what he was doing; what he was protecting.

            Thorin has been abused, neglected, and hurt, by those around him, and Bilbo would do everything and anything to erase that.

            Few knew it—Ori was one of them—but Bilbo was no stranger to pain that ran so deep that it was simply a normal part of one’s being.  Normal, meaning to the point that the idea of _not hurting_ was as foreign and abstract as a Dali painting; it just didn’t make a whole lot of sense.  And he had learned in his years with Otho and Lobelia that if one pushed it all down far enough, one could pretend it wasn’t there; one could easily live with it and function. 

            Throughout his teenage years, Bilbo was the very embodiment of normality.  There was nothing wrong, it was all normal—completely.  He got up, he got yelled at, he got dressed for school, he got insulted, he studied hard, he got threatened, he had dinner, he got belittled, he got ready for bed, he got beaten, he went to sleep, he had nightmares; then the dawn would come and the cycle would repeat. 

            See—totally normal.

            When he finally got to university, things were of course different.  Yes, he’d  finally gotten away and he didn’t have to deal Otho or Lobelia or Lotho anymore and there were no more beatings; that alone had been strange—to get up in the morning and not be sore.  Granted, the nightmares never left and he continued to hear Otho and Lobelia’s words in his head and in his dreams, but all in all, it was fine, it was okay. 

            It was all okay. 

            When he was done with school, Bilbo stayed to be an assistant and earned a teaching position. 

            For all intents and purposes, he was whole and hale.  Well, maybe not hale, but for him, it was close enough.   He learned to laugh and, for the first time in ages, people laughed with him, not at him.  If anyone thought him damaged, they never said and frankly, there was nothing really wrong—it was all perfectly normal, everyone had issues in their past, Bilbo was no different. 

            Right? 

            Then, he reconnected with Nori and Nori loved him; at least he’d said he did.  Bilbo learned what it was to be happy—really happy, not pretend.  Nori was funny and made him giggle and bought him presents and made love to him.  God, what a revelation—to have someone touch him and not have it hurt!  True, Nori never really gave Bilbo all of him, even Bilbo knew that, but it was okay; Bilbo wasn’t used to having it all anyway, so he was happy with what he got.  As Lobelia always told him, _‘Beggars, like you, certainly can’t be choosy.’_ And besides, did anyone ever have it all?  Bilbo hadn’t.

            When Nori died, naturally Bilbo had cried, because hadn’t Nori taken Bilbo as close to what he thought perfection was than he ever dreamed possible?  So, again, it was only natural.  But his tears weren’t just for Nori or even himself, mostly they were for Ori.  Sweet Ori, who was so devastated at his brother’s passing, was the only one that came close to knowing Bilbo’s secrets. 

            Close, but not all.

            In the end, Bilbo once again buried it and adopted that old British idiom, ‘Stay Calm and Carry On.’

            So, he did.

            He became a full professor, settled into teaching and had a nice little flat in Brighton, had a comfortable, uneventful life and he carried on.  

            Content was what he was. 

            Why should he even ask for more?  He gave up wishing for it long ago. 

            Even when the magazine job came out of the blue and with it a little excitement, Bilbo just took it in stride; after all, just because he got it, didn’t mean he couldn’t lose it just as quick.

            Then he’d met Thorin, and, for the first time, the grey rain clouds of his life parted.

            There had never been anyone or anything to compare to Thorin.  Well, maybe the Sun.  And that was it really, Thorin shone like Sol Invictus himself when he was near, all the shadows withdrew and he filled Bilbo with warmth and light—Bilbo had only ever _glimpsed_ that feeling a few times in his life; when he read Austen for the first time and when he had been loved by Nori.  But even then, neither Jane nor Nori had ever came close to the power that Thorin had to dispel the darkness that was everywhere in Bilbo.

            And when Thorin went away, that love was enough for Bilbo to carry a tiny bit of Thorin’s light within him.  Whenever he thought of Thorin, be it daydreams or the dark of the night, that light filled him with all the love he had for Thorin.

            Oh yes, when he had been told that Thorin had died, so too did the light in him flicker and dim, but it didn’t go out completely; there was an ember still in his soul and during those times when the heartache was too much and Bilbo had retreated to his room to cry alone, that ember would flare and the light would be there again, as if Thorin were comforting him still.  It was just enough for Bilbo to continue on with life; well, existing anyway.

            Then he saw Thorin.

            He saw Thorin alive and well and … with someone else.

            The one year anniversary of their meeting was coming up and he wanted nothing more than to visit Thorin’s resting place.  He wanted to take flowers, wanted to stand before Thorin and speak with him, connect with him; he still felt the pull of Thorin’s presence in his life, he needed to be there.

            He had left multiple messages for Thorin’s father, but the man was apparently too busy, or had forgotten Bilbo, or perhaps simply didn’t want to be reminded of Thorin’s death, to return his calls. 

            Bilbo could understand that; he didn’t want to be reminded of Thorin’s death either, but he still wanted to pay tribute to the one and only person he had truly loved.

            So, Bilbo decided it would be easiest if he left work a bit early one day and go see Thrain in person.

            And that’s when he saw Thorin.  Right there, on the street; right in front of Durin and Sons; right in front of a waiting car, with a girl on his arm; a lovely woman that could bear him children, give him heirs; something Bilbo could never give him.

            And she was lovely; even Bilbo could see that; just as he could see how— _perfect_ , they fit together; she with her arm hooked through his, a smile upon her beautiful face, her long blonde hair a waterfall of flowing gold; a quick kiss on Thorin’s cheek as she pulled him into the waiting limo. 

            They were lovely together; a lovely couple; a lovely, normal, _straight_ couple.

            So much more appropriate than plain, small, insignificant Bilbo Baggins, unworthy Bilbo Baggins, the mousey, unwanted, gormless, ‘nancy-boy’ that Lobelia and Otho had always told him he was.

            Bilbo didn’t remember much after that.  He barely recalled marching into Thrain’s office, demanding answers, hearing vague threats to call security from the man’s secretary, Thrain’s hard, angry glare, and then the man’s confirmation of all that Bilbo thought and was saying; Thorin wanted a normal life, wanted a family, wanted children and he _didn’t_ want Bilbo.

            And why would he? 

            Lobelia had always told him that he had nothing to offer and here was the very proof.  Bilbo’s love hadn’t been enough, it hadn’t been what Thorin wanted, what he needed and so, like so many things in his life, Bilbo lost what he loved most in the world.

            He wanted to be angry, to be mad, to scream at the heavens that it was unfair.  But life wasn’t fair—something else Otho told him that over and over.

            And he could never hate Thorin.  He loved him, even now when his heart was dying inside him; the only thing in him was the love he still had for Thorin. 

            Hadn’t Bilbo told Thorin that all he wanted was for Thorin to be happy? 

            Yes.  

            And didn’t Thorin deserved to be happy, to have all that he wanted? 

            Yes. 

            And shouldn’t Bilbo let him go, let him live his life?

            Yes.

            Even if Bilbo didn’t want a life without Thorin, didn’t want to live in a world where Thorin didn’t love him.

            The flame that was Thorin’s love was fading but it still wouldn’t go out.  Instead it turned cold, like the light of a star that one could only glimpse through a cloudy sky now and then; a distant star that only seemed to urge Bilbo to follow it into the heavens and leave the world behind.

            Yes.

            Yes, leave it _all_ behind.

            With his decision made, Bilbo felt rather cathartic.  It had taken a bit of coaxing to get Ori out of the flat, with some excuse he didn’t remember, but Bilbo succeeded in getting Ori to go.  Afterwards, Bilbo had stood in the bathroom—how long he couldn’t say—and just stared at his reflection in the mirror, until the person staring back at him was no longer someone he knew.

            That was when he reached for the razor. 

            There was something rather soothing about seeing the shiny metal blade against the pink tinged ivory of his skin.  If felt cool, inviting, and the little dark voice inside his head—that had always sounded like Lobelia—told him to just do it, it would be quick, easy, simple, a relief really. 

            He had a little pain with the first cut. 

            He barely felt the second. 

            He didn’t remember the others.

            The only thing he was aware of was the sound of someone crying somewhere, someone horribly heartbroken and empty, and Bilbo just sat on the bathroom floor and listened to the distant sobs.  So consumed by the sound,he didn’t hear Ori come rushing back, Ori screaming his name repeatedly, or Ori calling the ambulance, which strangely seemed to arrive out of thin air mere seconds later, because he could still only hear the person sobbing—no, not person, it was a man—it was a man crying. 

            Only when he was loaded into the back of the ambulance and secured, did Bilbo realize the crying man was him.

            The next several days blurred; one into the other.  There was no sense of time passing, of decisions made, of questions asked, orders given, of people coming and going.  Bilbo was sure that Ori was there at times, saying something about moving down from Edinburgh, moving in and staying.  He vaguely remembered Bard, coming a few times, sounding sad and unsure, nothing like the flirty, teasing man Bilbo knew him to be, telling Bilbo that he would be okay and that his job was still there, take all the time he needed _,_ and please, please get better.

But no Thorin of course.

 _Why would he come?_   Thoughts of Thorin danced around Bilbo’s head; images of Thorin with his beautiful wife, lovely babes, family gatherings, holidays by the sea, Christmas with his family, kisses under the mistletoe.  _Someday, maybe—just like Thorin had told me in Brighton—we’ll pass each other on the street or on the tube or in a shop and there would be a moment of recognition, a vague wonder as he tries to remember my name, and then … then he’ll move on, having forgotten me._

_We’ll be polite strangers._

_Nameless passers-by._

_Nothing more._

_I’ll be nothing to him, while he will always be the brightest part of my life—my sun._

Doctors, nurses, specialists, they were but a jumble of faces—they all looked alike—no one in particular standing out above the rest; just people in white uniforms and jackets. 

            How are you feeling? 

            Take these meds. 

            Do you need anything else? 

            See you later. 

            Blah, blah, blah.

            Once, one of the nurses switched on a radio—an oldies station—knowing that it helped an older gentleman with dementia who relaxed whenever music was played. 

            She had no idea what it did to Bilbo.

            The first full song was an American song, a ‘country’ song they called it if he remembered correctly.  Despite the age of the recording, regardless of the singer’s gender or background, never mind that even Bilbo knows it wasn’t meant literally, it still cuts him deeply, like it was sung for him, as if someone had written it with him in mind.

 

            _Why does the sun go on shining?_

_Why does the sea rush to shore?_

_Don't they know it's the end of the world?_

_'Cause you don't love me any more?_

            Bilbo had nodded silently to himself; the song wasn’t entertainment, it was truth.

 

            _Why do the birds go on singing?_

_Why do the stars glow above?_

_Don't they know it's the end of the world?_

_It ended when I lost your love._

 

            _I wake up in the morning and I wonder,_

_Why everything's the same as it was._

_I can't understand. No, I can't understand,_

_How life goes on the way it does._

           

            _Why does my heart go on beating?_

_Why do these eyes of mine cry?_

_Don't they know it's the end of the world._

_It ended when you said goodbye._

 

            That last bit wasn’t true; Bilbo never got to say good-bye.  But then, he couldn’t say that; not now, not ever.  He couldn’t say good-bye, because good-bye meant it was over.

            And it would never be over; not for Bilbo.

            Bilbo would have been happy—if he were able to feel ‘happy’, that is—to just sit there, in the hospital, silent and numb, for the rest of his life.  Because, like the song said, he didn’t have Thorin, so, he didn’t have a life.  Not anymore.

            But then, one day, _he_ came.  So gentle, so caring, so kind; Bilbo couldn’t understand it; the man was being kind _to_ Bilbo. 

            The man’s voice was deep but soothing, and it seemed to fill Bilbo up and warm him.  Not like Thorin of course—no one was like Thorin—but Bilbo felt something close to awareness come back to him.

            “Will you tell me what happened?” The man asked; direct and yet so polite.

            Bilbo didn’t look up at that, and he could barely speak; he couldn’t remember the last time he had.  “I love someone, but I lost him; because … because I didn’t deserve him.”

            “I don’t know about that,” the man said, “but you certainly don’t deserve what you’ve been through.”

            Again, Bilbo didn’t understand, it was such a strange concept; of course Bilbo deserved nothing, but Bilbo realized suddenly that wasn’t what the man meant.  As Bilbo finally looked up at the man—bushy beard and dressed in grey, even his eyes were grey—he felt something akin to comfort.  

            “Who are you?” Bilbo croaked out.

            The man smiled and Bilbo could almost feel it.  “My name is Doctor Grey, Gandalf Grey.  And I’m here to help you.”

            “Why?” Bilbo still didn’t understand.  Why would _anyone_ help him?

            Gandalf’s smile never wavered, as he gently placed his hand over Bilbo’s.  “Because, despite what you think you do or don’t deserve, I know you deserve better.”

            It took weeks of work; sessions, discussions, crying fits, screaming matches but after almost two months in hospital, Bilbo finally felt well enough to go home.

            Ori had moved to London and proceeded to fuss over Bilbo in a way that would have put Dori to shame.  Ori had always been his greatest supporter, his most faithful ally, even when he lived hundreds of miles away; he had always been Bilbo’s best friend.  Bilbo tried to apologize for what he had put Ori through, but Ori silenced him quickly and stated that if Bilbo was going to apologize for anything, it should be for not turning to him before Bilbo had reached so desperate a place.  Bilbo was his brother in all but blood, and Bilbo had better never forget it; he’d lost one brother, he’d be damned before he’d lose another.

            It also didn’t take Bilbo long to realize that Ori and Doctor Grey both believed that Bilbo was still upset over Nori’s death.  Bilbo didn’t correct them; it was as good an excuse as any and Bilbo simply refused to share Thorin with anyone.

            It took time, but Bilbo learned to live again, learned to let go of the darkness and vile poison that Otho and Lobelia had poured into him.  He learned that he was better than he thought, more talented than he gave himself credit for, more loving than he believed and certainly more worthy than he’d been told.

            Bard kept his word, kept Bilbo’s job safe and allowed Bilbo to work from home from then on.  The man even came by occasionally, bringing gifts of plants and flowers, always checking on Bilbo and making whatever Bilbo needed or wanted, happen.  Had Bilbo any love to give, Bard would have had it all.

            However, Bilbo had no love to spare.

            After everything, Thorin still had Bilbo’s heart and always would.  Bilbo had resigned himself that Thorin was happy and whole and that was all he could wish for.  Maybe in another time, or another life, or another world, they could have been together, but in this one, Thorin was clearly happiest without Bilbo and Bilbo would do his best to live his life, alone.  

            Well, not totally alone, Bilbo still had his love for Thorin; that would be enough.

            But now, with his delusions of Thorin’s so-called happiness in ashes, the lies Thrain told exposed, the truth revealed, the knowledge of the suffering Thorin had endured, the obvious pain Thorin still carried within him, Bilbo felt a rather powerful and instinct urge to comfort, to shelter, to protect Thorin at all costs; Bilbo would make sure everything Thorin needed was seen to, that everything was fine, that it was okay.

            Bilbo would _make it_ okay!

            And God have mercy on anyone that stood in his way.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Having left Durin and Sons far behind, both physically and mentally, Thorin deftly maneuvered his silver-colored Bentley Muslanne through the streets of London; the traffic mesmerizing.  Unlike so many he knew, driving actually relaxed him; it de-stressed him, because it forced him to focus, to concentrate, to remain completely in control of the car and thus himself—at least while he was driving.

            And he needed that right now.

            Every emotion he’d tried to force down, rein in, or control, swirled around inside him like snakes.  _Why must it always be snakes?_   He thinks to himself.  But he can’t deny the imagery; when ever he thinks of his emotions he’s reminded of snakes, writhing, slippery, hard to hold, poisonous.  He has tried to push them down, lock them up, kill them, but he always ultimately fails.

            _Of course you failed,_ his inner voice hisses in his ear.  _You’ll always fail._

            Thorin schools his face into a mask; not a hint of his thoughts of inner turmoil on his face; he’s gotten quite good at that.  Most of time, anyway.

            Just as long as Bilbo never sees it; he won’t chance Bilbo seeing the truth.

            Bilbo.

            Like Rome, all roads of Thorin’s mind—and his heart—lead back to Bilbo.

            Thorin focuses on the traffic; least his mind wander.  He’s made this trip plenty of times before, to Grey’s office, but with Bilbo in the car he was anxious; it felt odd, strange somehow, as if he’s about to share a dirty secret or something forbidden.  It was disconcerting.  Of course, the fact that they both had both been seeing the same Psychiatrist and had not known it was in and of itself disconcerting; he’d have a few choice words for Grey, make no mistake. 

            But keeping Bilbo happy, giving him what he wanted—whatever that be—didn’t seem to include this, didn’t include Grey, or at least, didn’t include having him see Thorin at Grey’s, seeing Thorin for what he was, seeing him for what Thorin knew was the truth.

            Fear welled up above all other emotions and Thorin had to grip the wheel tightly, least he lose his control.

            “Are you still angry?” Bilbo asked softly.

            “What?”  It came out too harsh; the question had thrown Thorin off for a second.

            “Are you still angry … with me … over—”

            “Why would you ask that?!”  Again, too harsh.

            Bilbo didn’t answer the question and Thorin didn’t push.

            Thorin was angry but Bilbo just didn’t get it; Thorin hoped he didn’t, anyway.  And that was the fear right there.

            _It’s only a matter of time,_ the voice in Thorin’s head snickered; a voice that sounded just like Thrain’s.  _He’ll leave you soon.  You know it.  And you’ll be left with only yourself; left with nothing.  But then, they’re the same thing now, aren’t they?_

There was a time when that voice was a comfort, a driving force in his life; once it was everything to Thorin.

            A long, long time ago.

            In his youth, Thorin had only one hero in his life; his father.  Thrain was all things to his young son; strong, confident, smart, fearless, daring, bold, determined.  He was the protector, the guiding force, the leader, the king.

            Thorin wanted nothing more than to be just like his dad.  He watched out for his younger siblings, he fixed toys, battled bullies, held their hands when they crossed the street, he even tried to take the blame for when one of them had done wrong—never worked, but Thorin still tried.

            ‘Little man’ his mother called him; ‘Buddy’ his father nicknamed him; to Frerin he was simply ‘T’, while Dis called him ‘Thor’, like the thunder god, although even back then, Thorin suspected that his full name was just too much for the little one to say fully.

            But even more than doing things, Thorin wanted to work at Durin and Sons, just like his dad!  He observed and listened; when Thrain was on the phone, in his home office or even when his uncles came over and they talked ‘shop’ as they called it.  He learned early what markers and indicators to look for so that one knew when a stock was worth more than gold and when it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.

            And Dwalin was getting to the same point; thanks to Fundin bring him along when they all got together.

            So quick had both boys gotten, that an incident when they were ten, proved rather telling.  The whole family had gathered for a long holiday weekend at Robere Hall, but naturally, Thrain, Fundin and Groin were in the parlour discussing a particularly difficult stock.  Should they invest or not?  As the three men discussed back and forth, Thorin, who had been sitting in the corner with Dwalin, piped up and said, “You should wait to buy that, daddy.”  Dwalin voiced his agreement.

            The three older men stilled and looked at the boys.

            “And why is that, son,” Thrain asked, amused.

            “They are about to enter their third quarter,” Dwalin stated and Thorin nodded.

            “So?” Fundin stated, clearly voicing what the other men were thinking.

            “They often report poor returns in their third quarter,” Thorin said, matter-of-factly with a small shrug.

            “What?” Groin even shook his head like he hadn’t heard.

            “They always seem to perform poorly in the third quarter,” Thorin stated again.  “If you wait a few months, their stock will go down and be a better deal.  However, they usually rebound in the fourth and first quarters, you can sell again six months later and make a killing.”

            “They could hang on to the stock instead,” Dwalin stated sounding very much like his father in miniature.  “Even with their third quarter losses, they still have improved each year.”

            “But there are rumors that their CEO is leaving after the first of the year,” Thorin pointed out to Dwalin and both boys missed the incredulous looks from their elders.  “Who knows who will take over and what changes they will make.”

            “True, that,” Dwalin said, nodding.

            All three grown-ups looked again at their figures and, indeed, they had missed the points the two youngsters had made.  In the end, the decision was made not to risk the stock at all, but the whole affair was a shining moment for Thorin, and his father couldn’t have been prouder.

            From then on, Thrain doubled his efforts and expanded his reach.  He taught Thorin what he knew, not just about finances, but also about people, and about life itself.  Thorin learned that there were those that had and those that didn’t and it didn’t do to go and associate with anyone that couldn’t help advance them.

            Thorin proceeded to make friends with the right sort.  Sons of politicians, daughters of the aristocracy, children of the connected and well-placed; he knew, even as an eight years old, those friends would lead him onto bigger and better things.  His father had told him so.  And the more friends he had, the more connections his father made and this lead to more friends for Thorin and more riches for the family, for the company, and for his future.

            And as much as Thorin adored his father, his father returned Thorin’s affection.  He told Thorin how proud he was of him, how smart he was, how clever.  Thorin basked in the adulation and his idolization of his father grew with each passing week, month and year.  Everything was perfect.

            Until that summer he turned eleven.

            He could never recall all the details later on that changed everything, but he remembered that it seemed as if one minute he and his father were a team, united in thought and purpose, an unstoppable duo, and in the next, he was cast aside, deemed unworthy and Thorin didn’t really understand why.   He did remember the first, sudden stinging backhand, the split lip and his father’s growled out insults; calling Thorin a degenerate and deviant.

            All because Thorin had found another boy beautiful.

            Very quickly, Thorin’s world was turned upside down.  Thrain’s comments turned to insults, saying whatever would cause injury and hurt.  In fact, Thrain seemed to think that embarrassing Thorin in front of his mother and siblings was the best way to purge Thorin of his ‘abnormality’, of his ‘perversion.’  He called Thorin ‘shameful’ and 'disgusting.’ 

            But Thrain’s favorite became telling Thorin that he was ‘far less than a man.’

            Thorin didn’t understand in the beginning, he didn’t know what to say or do or think to make it better.  He tried to be different than he was, to try and be like everyone else, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t; they were his feelings, how could anyone change what they felt?!  He certainly didn’t know.

            So, instead, Thorin learned to hide his feelings, hide who he was, to stand by and be silent and stoic and just close it all up inside.  People began to call him broody, told him he was too serious for someone so young, told him to loosen up and be happy.

            But how could he be happy when he was always pretending?  Always on guard?  Always on alert for a verbal barb or jab from his father, a casually flung insult at dinner or even a slap or backhand when Thorin didn’t watch what he said.

            And as Thorin turned inward, down came the pedestal he had placed his father upon.  Thorin’s hero had faltered.

            There were no heroes.

            By the time Thorin reached eighteen, he’d become a master of obfuscation.  No one could read him.  Sure his immediate family knew his secret; Thrain never gave up on that, or the continuous attempts to ‘change’ Thorin by throwing beautiful women in his path.   Those outside the immediate family, however, had no idea; God forbid anyone found out ‘Thorin’s immorality’ and embarrass them all.  Even Dwalin didn’t find out until Thorin and he were off to university together. 

            Thorin’s social life was smoke and mirrors; weekends out with his rugger friends and dates with girls that led nowhere, while weekday nights were spent in pursuit of men in distance parts of the city, where names weren’t needed because the sex didn’t last long enough for it to be an issue.

            When he graduated and started working at the family firm, Thorin gave every impression that he was married to his job and that was it.  Thrain still made the occasional quip about gays, but he must have thought Thorin had given in or grown passed his ‘queer phase’ and his remarks became less while the female introductions became more frequent.

            But Thorin had mastered the double life.  He could afford more covers and more discretion.  He met them at hotels without giving them his name; used false names and met them at bars across town far from his flat or when he was on a business trip; he even occasionally hired someone from discreet and reputable agencies; they didn’t ask questions. 

            The only thing the men he fucked had in common was their hair; no blonds. 

            It wasn’t that he disliked blonds or found them unattractive.  Quite the opposite; he often dreamt of blond hair that shone like gold in the sun and what looked soft, touchable, begging for Thorin to run his fingers through it, but every time he reached for it, the dream ended.  And there was something else; every blond he ever met, as few as they were, seemed to fall short of his expectations, they were never ‘good enough.’  What that meant even he couldn’t say, it was just a feeling he had.  He never sat and thought about it too hard, just refused to date them; that was it.

            To the world he had it all, everything he wanted; high powered job, money to burn, fast cars, fancy flat, the world at his fingertips.  Yes it was all a lie, but he could handle it—had been handling it—for a long time.  And with a younger brother and sister, both of whom stated they wanted children, he saw no reason to change.

            It took Frerin’s death for there to be a reason.  Suddenly there was pressure, a great deal form his parents, subtly from his extended family, for Thorin to ‘do the right thing’, to get married, produce heirs.  It didn’t matter that his sister already had two by then; Thorin was the eldest and it was ‘his duty.’

            The constant pressure soon became too much.

            His parents didn’t care and the rest of the family never knew, never guessed, what their pushing was doing to him inside.  They never guessed that what he wanted was to end it all. 

            He came close several times.  Now and then he would find himself sitting in the bathroom, a full pill bottle in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other but he would lose his nerve.  Sometimes he thought about just leaving the car engine running with a hose, but he chickened out.  He even considered driving over the nearest bridge, swerving to left and going over the railing, but it was too much like Frerin; he couldn’t do it.

            In the end, he never got the nerve.

            He was as weak as his father always said.

            But something had to give and even Thorin knew it.           

            By the December after 9/11, Thorin had reached a limit and he’d had enough.  He came out, blurted it out actually and while it was a relief, there was still the lingering desire to end it all.

            That’s when it dawned on him; death in battle.  It was perfect.  He’d get away from everyone, everything, he’d do something worthwhile, something for his country, and when he was dead, it would all be over.

            Of course, nothing ever goes as one plans it.

            Not only did he survive, but he thrived in the army.  He got promotions, he trained new recruits, he was actually happy.  Sure he was reckless at times—Dwalin called him brave; what a joke—and he still wished to die an honorable death on the battle field, but his time in the army was ticking away and still, nothing happened.  He was getting ready to be done, to return to the real world and he was scared; he didn’t want to go back to an empty life, with an oppressive father and a distant mother, he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory!

            And then, suddenly, he found what he had long been missing. He found meaning.

            Because he found Bilbo.

            Oh Bilbo, so beautiful and soft and kind and everything Thorin had never had but had always wished for!  He was a dream come true and, as strange it seemed, almost from the moment he laid eyes on Bilbo, he knew, he was the one. 

            For the first time in his life, he had someone that made him feel worthy and deserving. 

            Thrain had always told Thorin that ‘real men’ did this, that or another thing, but Thorin could never wrap his brain around what his father meant.  In meeting Bilbo, Thorin finally understood, in ways Thorin had never felt before; strong, brave, confident, protective, and—there was no other word for it— _masculine_.  That’s what Bilbo gave to Thorin; something no one had ever gifted him with before; Bilbo made him feel like _a real man_!

            Not because Bilbo was feminine, no, that wasn’t a word that Thorin would _ever_ use to describe Bilbo; Bilbo was more … intellectually masculine, like a doctor—or professor in Bilbo’s case—is masculine. 

            No, Thorin came to realize that he felt the way he did because Bilbo was someone who wanted him as he was, desired him, needed him, _and loved_ _him_ ; for who Thorin was, not for who he wanted Thorin to be.

            Thorin knew what it was to be someone’s hero!

            What a joke.

            That was all over now.  Thorin knew it.

            Thorin wanted to laugh when he thought back on it.  Thorin knew the truth and he could only continue to pretend, to hide the truth, and to make sure that Bilbo never found out, because Thorin knew, it would tear them apart.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Bilbo listens to is 'End Of The World' by Skeeter Davis ...  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEMLGmQjLRY&list=RDiEMLGmQjLRY#t=0
> 
> \---------------------------------------
> 
> Suicide Hotlines and websites
> 
> IN THE USA -  
> The National Suicide Prevention Hotline - http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ - Call 24/7, 1-800-273-8255  
> The Trevor Project (LGBTQA Youth) - http://www.thetrevorproject.org/ - Call 24/7, 1-866-488-7386  
> Trans Lifeline - http://www.translifeline.org/ - (877) 565-8860 in the USA, (877) 330-6366 in Canada
> 
> IN THE UK -  
> Samaritans - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samaritans_(charity) - 24/7/365  
> PAPYRUS (Prevention of Young Suicide) - http://www.papyrus-uk.org/ - Call 0800 068 41 41, or SMS 07786 209697, or email pat@papyrus-uk.org  
> CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably) - Call Nationwide 0800 58 58 58, or London 0808 802 58 58


	22. MONDAY (Afternoon) - The Storm Breaks, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to have taken so long to get this chapter out ... life, work, myself ... even the emotional toll this story has taken on me ... has been a lot to deal with. Worst, however, was the insistence that I NOT break this chapter up ... however, a few days ago I realized I was fighting a losing battle and when I made the decision to break it ... it all came together.
> 
> I hope this was worth the wait ... and I assure you, the next part will NOT be long in coming out!
> 
> (ALSO, THIS CHAPTER IS BARELY BETA-ED ... ANY MISTAKES, TYPOS, ETC, ARE MY OWN DOING AND WILL BE CORRECTED ASAP)

* * *

 

****

         Gandalf would gladly admit that he was still surprised by life; the ever flowing, never slowing, ebb and tide of the universal ocean every creature abides in. From its serendipitous occurrences to it’s twisting paths and sometimes-unfortunate events, life still held many unexpected — surprises!

         Take, for example, the two people that seemed so unlikely a pair, most would’ve scoffed at the very idea. Thorin Durin and Bilbo Baggins were polar opposites, night and day, parallel lines that, by all accounts, should never have crossed paths. It seemed almost fanciful. Yet in this case, Gandalf would have to say he was far more intrigued than surprised.        

         What fascinated Gandalf was the very mix of opposites and similarities between them; Thorin, tall, dark, and broodily handsome, Bilbo, shorter, lighter and almost perpetually youthful. However each had become skilled in hiding their true selves; Thorin had learned to put a stoic, brave face to the world, challenging it to challenge him, while Bilbo had learned to wear a mask of sunshine to hide the dark cloud within.

         “Good afternoon!” Gandalf said brightly as he opened the door to his waiting room and greeted the couple. Thorin leveled the good doctor with a firm, pointed look, while Bilbo graced Gandalf with a bright smile. Strangely, while Thorin’s expression seemed honest, even in its intensity, Bilbo’s smile felt forced.

         And the strange reversal of character didn’t stop there. Thorin had a kind of _deliberate_ relaxed air bout him that Gandalf hadn’t ever seen before, from Thorin's hair to his clothes. Bilbo, on the other hand, seemed tightly wound, what with his waistcoat and long sleeves all pressed and done up; Bilbo rarely wore everything buttoned up closed. And Bilbo also wore his glasses, not his contacts, as if he were putting up a wall, or shield - albeit a glass one - between himself and world.

         Of course, both were dressed in their preferred ‘styles’; Thorin in expensive, tailored shirt and shoes, Bilbo in his vintage-feeling clothing. But Gandalf wondered if either was even aware that they had both dressed in shades of blue; both looking in their differences as if they had been designed, cut and made for each other.

         Both looked a bit tired; not just physically, although there was evidence of that, but rather a kind of tired that people had when all their energy was going into appearing not tired.

         Intriguing indeed.

         “You’re late,” Thorin said evenly.

         “Couldn’t be helped,” Gandalf countered. “Client phone call.”

         “It’s okay,” Bilbo shrugged. “We didn’t mind waiting.”

         Thorin looked like he did mind, but didn’t say a word and only proceeded to stand and follow Bilbo, very closely, into the office; a protective hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.  

         “I can’t tell you how unexpected it was to hear from you both,” Gandalf started right off as he took his seat behind the desk. “I would’ve liked to have been there when you two reconnected, but—”

         “Why?” Bilbo asked.

         “To help smooth things over,” Gandalf said honestly.

         “If you’d wanted to smooth things over,” Thorin said with a slight edge, “then you should have told us you knew the other!”

 _Aggression;_ people got aggressive when they were angry, scared, defensive, or when they had something to hide. Gandalf just couldn’t decide which Thorin was.

         Or was it all?

         “You both know perfectly well,” Gandalf said softly, even if did sound a little patronizing, “that I was not at liberty to disclose my association with either of you to the other.”

         “But I’m not a patient anymore,” Bilbo pointed out before Thorin could argue further. “What harm would it have done to at least have told Thorin you knew me?”

         “Much,” Gandalf stated. “My confessing that I knew of you and your story, could have confirmed that I knew you _professional_ _ly_ and that would have been a violation of law and ethics.”

         “It’s us!” Thorin countered. Thorin sounded not only angry but — Gandalf wondered, was Thorin simply looking for a fight?

         “I guess it doesn’t really matter, now,” Bilbo said, resigned and waving it off. “It’s done; we came together and did so quite well, so … it’s fine, it’s okay.”

         The fight seemed to go out of Thorin’s argument but Gandalf could see that it hadn’t gone out in his eyes.

 _He’s putting it on the back burner,_ Gandalf thought, _to simmer and brew; making his anger hotter. And I know that tone in Bilbo’s voice … like he’s trying to convince someone that everything is normal. But who? Thorin? Me? Himself?_

         “Speaking of coming together,” Gandalf stated, “why don’t you tell me what has happened since you …” Gandalf paused for the right word, “reunited.”

         “Well,” Bilbo said, brightly, either unaware or unwilling to acknowledge Thorin’s slowly forming scowl, “we told you about our meeting in the cafe, and what Thrain had said and done—”

         “Yes, terrible that,” Gandalf interjected.

         “—and you know that Dis took me to see Thorin that same night—”

         “That was kind of her,” Gandalf stated.

         “—and since then we have concentrated on spending time together and getting reacquainted.”

         “Yes,” Gandalf said softly. “I know.” That slipped out.

         “You know?” Bilbo asked incredulously.

         Thorn fired up. “What the hell do you mean … _‘I know?!’_ ”

         Gandalf wasn’t going to deny anything. “Your sister called.”

         “My sister?!” Thorin spat out. “She had no right—”

         “She has every right to call me,” Gandalf said; an edge to his voice. “Especially when it _doesn’t_ concern _you._ ” That was partially true. Dis had called, conflicted, as to how her new position, if she took it, would impact her family and, in particular, Fili’s treatment and recovery. Gandalf told her that while the decision rested solely with her, it was important for life to continue normally around Fili and she should make the decision as if Fili did not need to see Gandalf. Gandalf was glad to be informed, however, in case the issue came up in Fili’s session. Naturally, Dis had mentioned Thorin and Bilbo and some of her observances, but the two men didn’t need to know that.

         “So …” Thorin stumbled over his words in his anger, “what? Are you two _friends_ now?!”

         “It may come as something of a shock to you,” Gandalf said dryly but humorlessly, “but my personal time is not anyone’s business.”

         Thorin gave no comeback to that but Gandalf could see that Thorin wanted to continue to fight. In fact, Gandalf was convinced more than ever that Thorin just wanted to fight someone over something, but even more telling, Thorin seemed to be avoiding fighting with someone in particular.

         Bilbo.

         And that was confirmed very quickly.

         “It doesn’t matter what Dis told Andy,” Bilbo said calmly, “He would have found out anyway; we would’ve told him—”

         Thorin’s scowled deepened but the man said nothing; just as Gandalf suspected.

         “—and it’s going to come out in the news shortly,” Bilbo continued on, “so, in the end, it’s fine really. It’s okay.”

 _Fine. Okay._ Again, those words were being thrown about; Gandalf was starting to feel uncomfortable; Bilbo using ‘fine’ and ‘okay’ itched at his mind. It was too much like Bilbo’s old self, the one that used to gloss over issues and tried to take his life.

         “So,” Gandalf redirected the conversation, “You were saying?”

         “Oh, right!” Bilbo said, with a light laugh, but Thorin gave Gandalf a look that spoke volumes of how unamused he was. “So … anyway, Thorin and I had a nice chat in the cafe; it really cleared a great deal up—”

         “Did it?” Thorin muttered but Bilbo appeared not to hear; Gandalf did.

         “—I went to see Thorin after what his father had confessed to, and it really brought a good deal of comfort to us—”

         Gandalf took note of Thorin’s frown but made no comment.

         “—and knowing that our … separation was not a fault of our own.”

         Thorin’s expression didn’t change, and Gandalf made another note; he knew where this was all heading.

         “Have you spent a great deal of time together these last few days?” Gandalf asked.

         “We haven’t been apart,” Bilbo answered.

         “You mean you have spent each day together?”

         “Of course,” Bilbo shrugged; clearly seeing no issue.

         “Don’t you think it rushing things for you two? I mean, to go and see each other so often, so quickly?”

         “We lost three years together,” Bilbo said softly. “Surely you can’t fault us for staying together.”

 _Wait a minute._ “Are you telling me,” Gandalf stated, sitting up a little straighter, “that you have been, basically, _living together_ for these past five days?” It was one thing spending every waking moment together, but quite another to think they were now inseparable.

         “What’s the problem?” Bilbo asked with a shrug.

 _So many things._ “We’ll get back to that later,” Gandalf said, making a note about it and meaning it. “So, what have you done, exactly?”

         “Well …” Bilbo replied slowly, as, once again, Thorin remained silent. “As I said, we’re learning to be together as we should have been.”

         “Care to be more specific?” Gandalf was beginning to loose patience; Christ, it was like dealing with Thorin when he first became a patient. And this was Bilbo!

         Bilbo, naturally, didn’t see the issue. _Or is avoiding it,_ Gandalf thought. “Shopping … cooking … spending time together … we even went over to my flat to get clothes …” Bilbo laughed that off but Gandalf noted Thorin’s brows contract slightly, “What do you think we did?”

 _I would have thought ‘talking’ would have been first on that list,_ Gandalf mused to himself.

         Gandalf had had enough of all this. Bilbo’s cheerful evasiveness, Thorin’s silent brooding and slow, seething anger, Gandalf was done babysitting; clearly, he was going to have to push, and push hard.

         “You know,” Gandalf leaned back casually in his chair, “many have compared me to Albus Dumbledore.”

         Both Bilbo and Thorin stilled, staring at Gandalf as if he was mad.

         “Here we go,” Thorin muttered darkly under his breath and rolled his eyes.

         “What does that mean?” Bilbo asked, perplexed.

         “I can see their point,” Gandalf continued, ignoring the couple. “Tall, lanky, bearded … a ready quip and the innate ability to turn a phrase. But, there is one thing my fictional counterpart and I don’t share; I have no love of sweets.”

         “And how is that related to the price of tea in China?” Bilbo asked.

         “It’s related,” Gandalf added, sitting forward and throwing Bilbo a hard glare, “because, your story has the distinct _flavor_ of ‘candy-coating.’”

         “I … beg your pardon?” Bilbo apparently was trying for affronted, but Gandalf knew him well enough to hear the apprehension in the man’s voice.

 _He knows it’s all lies._ Gandalf realized, if he wanted to open this dialogue up, he’s real target had to be the man sitting next to Bilbo; Gandalf went in for the kill. “I’d ask Thorin,” Gandalf commented, “But he seems to have lost his backbone all of a sudden.”

         Thorin was almost out of his seat, a snarl on his face, before Bilbo pulled on Thorin’s arm to settle him back down.

         “You’re antagonizing Thorin on purpose,” Bilbo said, sounding more than a little irritated.

         “I won’t deny that,” Gandalf said, sitting back and making notes. “But I want some straight answers from you both.”

         “I haven’t said anything!” Thorin spat out.

         “My point exactly,” Gandalf stated. “Besides being angry and indignant, you haven’t said two words of consequence since you walked in. Bilbo, on the other hand, has nattered on and on but seems bent on glossing over the details.”

         Neither Bilbo nor Thorin would look at him but then they also appeared to avoid looking at each other. _Just what happened over the last five days to bring them to this?_ Gandalf wondered. Bilbo seemed to be back-sliding into his old habit of denial while Thorin, his anger once focused sorely on Bilbo, now appeared to use that anger as a shield for Bilbo instead.

         “Now,” Gandalf said, taking control of the situation, “I want to hear what happened to you … to you both … over the last few days.”

        

——-oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo——-

 

**_THURSDAY_ **

 

         Bilbo woke from the most beautiful and restful sleep he’d had since that small flat in Brighton. Bilbo felt whole, now that Thorin was beside him, and the world felt — righted. He had been convinced that he would never have that feeling of oneness, completeness, and fulfillment, again. Without Thorin, how could he?

         Bilbo opened his eyes and found, in the course of the night, that he had moved away from Thorin; he was clear across the huge king size bed. Rolling over, he saw that Thorin had an arm thrown over his face to cover his eyes, his chest steadily rising up and down and breathing was deep, steady, and regular. Bilbo wanted to snuggle closer, to simply ‘ _be_ ’ in the warmth of Thorin’s body, but he didn’t wake Thorin.

         Predictably, at that moment, _someone_ else woke; Bilbo’s stomach gave a low, slow rumbled growl.

         “Honestly,” Bilbo sighed to himself. “Can’t you give me one morning of peace?”

         His stomach’s replying gurgle told him, no.

 _Fine,_ Bilbo thought. He had planned to make breakfast for Thorin anyway, so he took the hint and gently moved off the giant bed and made his way through the flat.

         He dithered back and forth about what to make. Should he make omelets or soft-boiled eggs? _Boiled Eggs_ , his inner voice supplied. _They can cook as you prepare the rest._    Griddlecakes or waffles? W _affles_ , the voice offered _, much nicer to wake up to_. Sausages or ham, then? _Ham,_ the voice decided, _unless Thorin doesn’t have any._ Of course, coffee for Thorin and tea for Bilbo – but those were a given.

         As he walked through the living room and dining area, entered the kitchen and stopped; his brain kind of short-circuited.

 _This is almost half the size of my flat!_ It had always been his dream to have a kitchen one could land a small helicopter in and Thorin’s totally fit the bill!   He tentatively began to explore; practically moaning in pleasure when he found the butler’s pantry.   There wasn’t much in the way of small appliances though; a coffee maker, toaster, electric kettle, but that was about it. He thought that odd at first but then he reminded himself; Thorin was a bachelor living on his own and who was an admitted ‘ _non_ -cook’.

         Yet, it didn’t take Bilbo long to find out that it wasn’t only small appliances missing — there wasn’t much in the way of _anything_ , especially anything edible. The fridge was stocked with a few bottles of outdated condiments, expired bottles of juices and a couple of take-away containers that looked like they now contained micro eco-systems. Staples such as eggs, flour, milk, sugar, etc. were nowhere to be found.

         Bilbo shrugged, gathering the take-away containers and tossing them in the bin. _I’ll just run to the store and stock up._ He wasn’t going to let _his_ Thorin, live off take-away; not if he had anything to say about it!

         Bilbo hurried to the smallest guest room and quickly got dressed. He figured there had to be a Sainsbury’s or Waitrose nearby, he just didn’t have a clue where; he was completely unfamiliar with Thorin’s neighborhood. _Yeah, that is a slight problem, isn’t it?_ He didn’t have a smart phone, so his was no help, but now that he thought about it, he did remember seeing Thorin’s iPhone on the dining table.

         He retraced his steps as he buttoned up his waistcoat and picked up the phone. Bilbo wasn’t totally daft; he might not have one, but he did know how to use a smart-phone. _Ori has an Android, how hard could an iPhone be?_

         Until he found it was locked.

 _Of course_ , Bilbo laughed to himself. _Just my luck._

         _What to do, what to do._

         Bilbo weighted his options. He could wait for Thorin to wake, but what if he slept late; after last night, Bilbo wouldn’t be surprised. He could wake Thorin directly, but he did want to surprise Thorin. He guessed he could ask whoever was at the concierge desk, but he wasn’t sure how that would go over; some strange man, looking like he just rolled out of bed – he stopped himself right there; he wasn’t going to embarrass Thorin by traipsing through his building looking like someone picked up at a pub the night before!

         Bilbo playfully wondered if he could crack the code? He had written a short story recently where someone had to do that very thing and he’d done some research on pass codes; he knew he had limited tries — three if he remembered correctly — so it would be fun to _at least_ try one time.

         He sat himself on the couch and put his mind to work. He could see that it was longer than the usually four digits _._ Thorin was smart, so Bilbo doubted he would be so obvious as to use a family member’s name and the man had no pets so that was out as well. _His brother’s name? No. Just because Frerin passed on doesn’t mean someone couldn’t figure that out; it would be as obvious as his nephews or anyone else in his family._ And also, Bilbo remembered reading that numbers were always advised. _For extra security._ Usually a code was something pleasant – Bilbo dismissed anything to do with the army – or something worth remembering. _Maybe a place?_ Clearly it would have to be something that only a few, or most likely only Thorin, knew about.

         Hmmmmm.

_Something no one would know about but Thorin; something worth remembering. Not a person’s name and probably with numbers—maybe even related to the word?_

         He suddenly noticed all his letters to Thorin scattered over the coffee table and an idea hit him; his stomach turning over at the thought. _Could he …_ Bilbo wondered _… would Thorin have tortured himself everyday?_ Taking in Thorin’s state when he had talked of Bilbo’s letters and his insistence that he wanted to keep them … keep them perfect, keep them safe … Bilbo couldn’t have honestly said no.  

         With a deep breath and much trepidation, Bilbo swiped his finger across the screen and typed in his idea; the last time Thorin had been happy.

**_B R I G H T O N 2 0 1 0_ **

****

         For a heartbeat, Bilbo hoped he was wrong.

         But then he hit, ‘Done’, and there was a click.

         The phone unlocked.

         Bilbo stared at the phone in his hands but he wasn’t really seeing it. In his mind’s eye all he could see was Thorin, hurting and blaming Bilbo for his ‘abandonment’ and yet, unable or unwilling to let go of what they’d shared; as Bilbo feared, essentially torturing himself daily, every time he opened his phone.

         That hurt; hurt so much that Bilbo had a hard time breathing for a moment. He remembered the call from Dis the night before. Dis had come over soon after; Ori and Dwalin in tow. They sat Bilbo down and in pained voices, told him all that Thrain had done and, worst of all, what Thorin had thought; what he believed. Dis even produced the crumpled, forged letter that Thorin had cast aside when he left his parent’s home.

         To say it had been eye-opening was a gross understatement. Feeling foolish for having ever believed Thrain, and so scared for Thorin, he hadn’t processed everything at that moment; his only thought was to get to Thorin.

         Now, sitting on Thorin’s couch, the sight of all his letters assaulted him. What Thorin must have gone through, hit Bilbo hard. Thorin away at war and no word from Bilbo; waking in hospital alone and no word from Bilbo; in pain and still no word from Bilbo; scared and scarred, told that Bilbo didn’t love him, and through it all, having to struggle with his new reality, his injuries — both physical and emotional — his therapy, his parent’s indifference, and coping with his losses.

         Alone.

         Alone and believing Bilbo had abandoned him.

         And why wouldn’t Thorin think that? Bilbo had done that very thing, had he not? Bilbo had believed the lies, which now seemed tissue-thin, and walked away; had indeed abandoned Thorin, when Thorin needed him the most.

         Oh sure, it would have been so easy just to point the finger at Thorin’s parents, but in his heart, Bilbo felt he must shoulder much of the blame. Hadn’t Andy insinuated so just the other day? If Bilbo had only walked over to Thorin and demanded the truth, right then and there, that day on the street, or better still, if he had insisted, pushed, demanded to see Thorin in the hospital, he would have saved them both years of misery.

         Bilbo couldn’t think any more of it as his name being screamed through the flat took all his attention.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

         “You broke into my phone?” Thorin asked quietly.

         “Bilbo,” Gandalf was almost shocked. “What on earth were you thinking?”

         “I didn’t mean—”

         “You did it on purpose,” Gandalf said.

         “I just got caught up,” Bilbo said.

         “But you basically burglared—”

         “That wasn’t my inten—”

         “Intention or not,” Gandalf pointed out, “You still—”

         “I didn’t think it would work,” Bilbo said.

         “But it did,” Gandalf stated. “And you clearly didn’t tell Thorin if he is just now finding out!”

         Bilbo gaped for a moment.

         “Leave him alone!” Thorin spat out with a heated glare at Gandalf.

         “Thorin,” Gandalf said sharply.

         “It doesn’t matter!” Thorin shot out.

         “Bilbo violated your privacy,” Gandalf insisted.

         “I’m sorry,” Bilbo said softly.

         “I don’t care!” Thorin said, putting a hand on Bilbo's knee. “I would have unlocked the damn thing for him if he’d asked, so—”

         “He didn’t ask,” Gandalf said. “That’s my point!”

         “It’s not your fucking phone,” Thorin snarled at Gandalf. “What do you care?!”

         “I’m sorry, Thorin,” Bilbo said quietly.

         “I don’t care!” Thorin said, angrily. “Really, Bilbo, I don’t!”

         Gandalf made notes; Thorin, who lashed out at his family for even perceived attempts at violating his life and privacy, now defended Bilbo’s confessed success at the same thing. Would Thorin just hand Bilbo his keys, wallet, and car and allow the man to do as he pleased? Would Thorin permit Bilbo to run rough-shot over his life without a second thought? Gandalf was almost sure of the answers to those questions and it was a little disturbing.

         “We can talk about it later.” Gandalf decided it was time to move on.

         “The hell we will!” Thorin ground out. “It’s not—”

         “We _will_ talk about it later,” Gandalf said. Thorin remained irritated but seemed to realize that Gandalf wouldn’t drop it. Bilbo only nodded; remained silent. “Now, Thorin,” Gandalf continued calmly. “I want to hear from you.”

         Thorin licked his lips. “Maybe we should just—“

         “No,” Gandalf wasn’t going to let Thorin off the hook. “I want to hear from you.”

         Thorin drew a slow breath in released it in a sigh.   “Fine.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

         In the deepest part of his heart, Thorin believed that if he had Bilbo again, all would be right and the world would be as it should be. Reality was, of course, quite different.

         On their first night back together, he knew that Bilbo would never go to sleep if he remained awake, so he told himself to still, to relax, and to simply breathe. It had taken all the self-control he could muster to let his muscles and expression slacken. It must have worked; Bilbo settled, quieted and his breathing turned soft and regular.

         Only then did Thorin open his eyes and gaze upon his love. _So beautiful; still so beautiful._ Oh sure, Thorin could see the fine lines that were not there before. The fine silver hairs now mixed in the honey-blond curls, almost making the curls shimmer – Thorin smiled to himself; Bilbo would look so charming with silver hair.

         Still, Thorin had to wonder, where all the changes to Bilbo physical being evidence of the stress and pain of Thorin’s ‘betrayal?’ Indeed, Thorin was easily convinced that he had done that to his Bilbo. He’d hurt Bilbo in ways he couldn’t even imagine by simply failing to have the courage to go to him.

         Thorin was sure of it.

         Thorin was sorely tempted to card his finger through Bilbo’s curls — curls that shone, even in the dim light. _I wonder if he would grow it out like it used to be._ Probably, if Thorin asked him, but then Thorin wouldn’t ask such a thing; he had no right to change Bilbo for his own selfish needs. He didn’t have a right to be here now with Bilbo after all he had done, but he was greedy, he’d not walk away again, never.

         When he finally drifted off to sleep himself, it was an uneasy sleep. And it felt like only a short while, a few moments before he startled awake the next morning, screaming—

         “BILBO!”

         Thorin thrashed about, his cry for Bilbo on his lips and he could only gasp, his breathing ragged. He was dazed, confused; his dream was gone but it had left a lingering fear. He was scared and frightened to his core; he had been terrified, even in his sleep. It was then that he realized he was tangled in sweat soaked sheets and the bed was cold; cold because Bilbo was not there.

         Bilbo was gone.

         He was alone, abandoned. His father had been right; Thorin was nothing, was worthless—

         Apparently, it was too much after all; Thorin was too damaged, too much of a burden, and the prospect of life with him was obviously beyond what anyone should have to deal with. Thorin was sure that Bilbo had come to realize those very things; Thorin did.

         But dammit, Bilbo had said he’d stay! He promised to be here!

         He promised!  

         The bedroom door flew open and there stood Bilbo; dressed and ready to leave.

         “Thorin—”

         “You couldn’t even say good-bye?!” Thorin demanded; his voice hoarse.

         Bilbo stammered out his response. “No, I … I—”

         “You said you’d stay!”

         “No! I didn’t want—”

         “Want to be here any longer?!”

         “No, Thorin, if you’d—”

         “If I’d _what_?! If I’d been normal; been _whole_ , you’d have kept your promise?!”

         “That’s not what—”

         “I get it now!” Thorin yelled, moving to sit on the side of the bed. “It was just too ugly,” Thorin gestured to his amputated leg, “too disgusting, too grotesque for you, wasn’t it?!”

         Bilbo just stood still, wide-eyed.

         “Maybe my father was right in the end!” Thorin spat out, his hurt and anger overflowing. “YOU DON’T REALLY CARE! YOU NEVER LOVED ME AT ALL! EVERYTHING WAS A LIE AND …” Thorin couldn’t breathe anymore, “And … and …”

         His mind cleared, the last of the dream fleeing and it hit Thorin suddenly; Bilbo didn’t look uncaring, Bilbo looked hurt and pained, not unlike when Thorin had run into him at Bombur’s café, and—

         “Oh, God!” Thorin croaked out. “Oh God … I … I’m sorry! I didn’t … I didn’t mean any—”

         He couldn’t say anything else at that point; Bilbo rushed over, threw his arms around Thorin and gathered him up. Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist and buried his face into Bilbo’s chest; ashamed and sick at what he had done.

         “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Thorin kept saying, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to say those things. I didn’t—”

         Bilbo shushed and gentled rocked back and forth. “It’s alright. It’s okay … it’s okay.”

         “I’m so sorry.”  

         “I know, sweetheart. I know you are,” Bilbo slowly ran his hand through Thorin’s hair. “It’s okay.”       

         _It wasn’t okay. None of it was._ Everything was wrong and Thorin could feel it, seeping into his heart, slowly and poisonously. _It was all wrong._ Thorin was all wrong.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

         There was silence for a minute.

         “That seemed an extreme response,” Gandalf said.

         Thorin avoided Gandalf’s gaze. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

         “He’d just woken from a bad dream,” Bilbo said defensively.

         “Nightmare it sounds like,” Gandalf countered.

         “There you go,” Bilbo said. “It can be no wonder that he jumped to the conclusion that—”

         “I do wonder,” Gandalf said. “I can appreciate that his dream was still driving his emotions, and your response to those emotions were appropriate … I’d like to know just what he had been dreaming about.”

         “He doesn’t remember,” Bilbo answered.

         Thorin remained silent. Gandalf felt that silence was more telling than words. “I think he does remember,” Gandalf said quietly. Thorin gave Gandalf a heated glare but didn’t disagree. Again, rather telling to Gandalf. “Don’t you?”

         When Thorin only scowled, Bilbo grew anxious.

         “You don’t remember,” Bilbo said softly. “You said you didn’t. None of them.”

         “Them?” Gandalf asked.   _There are more?_

         Thorin looked down at his lap but still said nothing.

         “He’s had them each night,” Bilbo finally confessed, concerned. “He told me … he told me he didn’t remember them.”

         “Guess again, Bilbo,” Gandalf said and sighed. “Thorin … I want you to continued your side of the story.”

         Thorin made as if he was going to shake his head, but stopped. With a breath in, he started again.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

         Bilbo’s quiet reassurances, coupled with long minutes of steady, controlled breathing, helped Thorin feel normal again. Once he did, Bilbo told Thorin why had had been planning on leaving and Thorin, feeling more than little guilty at his outburst, convinced Bilbo to let him take them both out for breakfast, although by that time it was closer to brunch, or ‘second-breakfast’ as Bilbo called it.

         The time gave them both the opportunity to shower. Bilbo hinted that it would be nice to ‘save water’ and shower together, but while it was one thing for Bilbo to see him remove his prosthetic before bed, it was something else entirely to be naked and full exposed; on display. Thorin knew it was ridiculous but he just wasn't ready; the disquieting feelings from his dream still played in his mind; the shower would help, along with his medication.

         Thorin took Bilbo to The Black Penny coffee house; it seemed just the place Bilbo would like and was glad to see that he wasn’t wrong. The atmosphere, like the food, was fresh and clean; perfect for chasing away the morning gloom that Thorin’s dream had brought between them. Also, the relaxed environment gave them the opportunity to discuss the specifics of why Bilbo had been heading out in the first place.

         “I’m sorry,” Thorin said, mentally kicking himself as he drank the last of his coffee. “I’ve just never been a cook; easier to order take away than actually stock the kitchen.”

         “What’s to be sorry about?” Bilbo said with a shrug and a little giggle. “You’re a man living alone. I’m not really _that_ surprised.” Bilbo popped the last of his sourdough toast and jam into his mouth.

 _Should have been prepared. Should have had everything Bilbo needed or could think of._ Of course, Thorin kept that to himself.

         Bilbo washed down his food with a healthy swig of tea, and then made to stand. “I’m going to use the loo; be right back.” He graced Thorin with a wink and turned to go before adding, pointedly, “And second-breakfast is on me.” He laughed at Thorin’s raised eyebrow and then went in search of the men’s room.

         Fine, Bilbo could have his way; Thorin already had other ideas. Bilbo wasn’t out of eyesight for two seconds before Thorin was dialing a familiar number.

         “Thank you for calling Waitrose,” said a friendly, youthful girl on the other end.

         “Yes, is Mister Collins on duty at the moment?” Thorin asked.

         “Yes, sir. Just a moment.”

         Thorin listened to the banal hold music, tapping his foot in his impatience; despite that, he only waited twenty seconds.

         “This is James Collins.”

         “Jim; it’s Thorin Durin.”

         “Oh, good-morning, Mister Durin.”

         Thorin would usually make a bit of small talk, but he had no time. “Look, Jim, I need a favor.”

         “Name it.”

         “I need you to gather whatever someone would need for a starter kitchen.”

         “Buying a new place, are you?”

         “No, just woefully lacking in supplies.”

         “Understood.”

         “I want everything you can think of … the essentials … and then I want you to gather everything that … _Nigella Lawson_ would need to feel right at home.”

         Jim laughed at that. “That’s going to be quite a lot.”

         “That’s the point.” Thorin wasn't going to have Bilbo want for anything.

         “Alright then. Basics and then half the store; anything else?”

         “I also want the best cuts of meats, and make sure that there are no canned vegetables of any kind; ‘fresh’ is your word for the day.”

         “Right.”

         “Good. Now, about delivery—”

         “How does Saturday sound?”

         “Like two days too late. Today. I want everything today.”      

         There was a heavy exhale not he other end. “Mister Durin, today is a bit busy and—”

         “You make it happen today, and there will be a checque for you that will dwarf whatever shit Waitrose calls a Christmas Bonus.”

         It only took seconds for James Collins to decide. “How does three hours sound?”

         “Like a fat load of money in your bank-account.”    

         When push came to shove, Thorin reminded himself he was a Durin after all; if you want something done and done right now, bribery does the trick.

         “I’ll see you in a bit, Mister Durin.”

         “You won’t actually. I’m out for the day, but the concierge can let you in.”

         “Great.”

         “And thank you, Jim. I knew I could depend on you.”

         “My pleasure, Mister Durin.”

         Thorin hung up, but quickly made another call.

         “One Tower Bridge,” said the smooth, familiar voice of Thorin’s concierge.

         “Whitcomb; Thorin Durin.”

         “Good morning, sir. How may I assist you?” The man was just sincere enough to not sound sycophantic.

         “There is going to a large delivery from Waitrose in a few hours,” Thorin said definitively and not needing to explain further.

         “I’ll see to it, Mister Durin. Would you like me to make sure everything is put away properly as well?”

         “Only the perishables; leave everything else out.”

         “Very good sir.”

         Thorin hung up and felt better; he was going to take care of Bilbo, whether he liked it or not.

         “All done,” Bilbo said, coming back. He didn’t bother sitting down, just picked up his cup, downed the last of his tea, and then snagged the bill off the table. “What do you say, we go shopping?”

         Thorin finished his coffee, reached for his cane and stood up. “Shopping for what?”

         Bilbo huffed out a little laugh. “Food of course.”

         “Already done.”

         Bilbo stopped and stared. “ _Done_? While you’ve sat and I used the loo?”

         “Yep,” Thorin confirmed with a smug smile and waved his phone. “Already called Waitrose.”

         “But … that won’t be for a few days. We need to—”

         “Three hours.”

         “What?”

         “They are delivering everything to the flat in three hours.”

         “ _How on earth_ did you arrange that?!”

         Thorin just bestowed Bilbo with his best Cheshire cat impression.

         “Never-mind,” Bilbo just shook his head. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.”

         “That’s probably best.”

         Bilbo rolled his eyes. “I hope you didn’t go overboard.”

         Thorin shrugged and kept a straight face. “Just a few things.”

         From The Black Penny, Thorin decided that, indeed, they needed to go shopping. Only it wasn’t food he wanted to get; he took them straight to Harrods. Once there, it wasn’t hard to direct Bilbo to the housewares department, and within a very short time, Bilbo was ‘oohing’ and ‘ah-ing’ over the home electricals. From the Dualit four-slice toaster and matching electric jug kettle - both with copper accents - to most of the Kitchen-aid line of small appliances; hand-held mixer, food-processor, emersion blender, mini processor, and, of course, the huge standing mixer along with every attachment that went with it. There was also an elegant but simple French press and the Murviel copper cooking utensils.   Thorin even eyed a Jura GIGA 5 coffee machine for himself.     Naturally, Thorin also had to get the lovely, traditional kettle by MacKenzie-Childs in the ‘Flower Market’ design; Bilbo kept ogling it.

         “Do you like that?” Thorin asked quietly.

         “This?” Bilbo asked, holding up the kettle. “It’s lovely but it’s horribly expensive.”

         “So?” Thorin failed to see the point; Bilbo liked it, what’s the problem?

         “Soooo,” Bilbo said, drawing out the word, “I’m not paying that much for a kettle.”

         Thorin waited a beat or two. “Who said anything about _you_ paying?”

         Bilbo turned, a retort clearly on his lips, when he noticed that behind them, the sales lady gleefully placing items on the check-out counter; all the items Bilbo had been drooling over.

         “Oh my God,” Bilbo croaked out. “What did you _do_?”

         Thorin shrugged. “You said my kitchen was … what where your words at second-breakfast … _’Woefully lacking in assistive devices?’_ ”

         “I didn’t _mean_ for you to buy out half of Harrods!”

         “I didn’t buy out half of Harrods,” Thorin said, making a face. “I bought out half their _housewares_ department; that’s different.”

         “Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo deflated, leaning his head into Thorin’s chest.

         Thorin laughed; he loved spending money on Bilbo, he’d have the pleasure of watching Bilbo actually using all these things in his flat, and now Bilbo was adorable, in his exasperation. Thorin was having a great time!

         “Now,” Thorin continued, “if you really want me to buy half of Harrods—”

         “I do not!” Bilbo mumbled emphatically out into Thorin’s chest.

         “—I’d gladly take you clothes shopping.”

         “No!” Bilbo stood up and stepped back. “You do not need to do that, or any of this for that matter!” Bilbo waved his arms at that now totally loaded counter.

         “But I want to,” Thorin said.

         “You have more important things to spend your money on,” Bilbo said.

         Thorin did his best to hide his disappointment. _There is nothing more important to me, than you,_ Thorin thought. But clearly Bilbo didn’t want what Thorin wanted to give. Bilbo really didn’t need Thorin; not like he used to.

         “Are you ready?” Bilbo said.

         “Sure,” Thorin said, smiling, least Bilbo figure out Thorin’s inner struggles. “Let me pay and we can be on our way.”

         “You really don’t have to get—”

         “They’re for my house, so … yes, I do.”

         Bilbo sighed. “Well …” Bilbo said. “We need to contact the place you get your prosthetic.”

         “Why?” Thorin asked, handing his card to the saleswoman.

         “The crack in it?” Bilbo reminded Thorin.

         “Oh yeah.” Thorin had forgotten about that. The saleswoman handed Thorin the sales receipt to sign and when he returned it to her, he said, “I want those delivered to my address …” Thorin quickly wrote out his address, “… today.”

         “That may not be …” The woman started.

         “Today,” Thorin said distinctly. “I don’t want to hear what you can’t normally do.”

         “Thorin,” Bilbo chided gently. “It doesn’t have to be—”

         “Today,” Thorin said firmly.

         The saleswoman took a slow breath and released it. “Very good, sir.”

——-ooooo——-

 

         By the time they finished at the prosthetic makers, it was late in the afternoon and Bilbo was looking forward to heading home. As they approached Thorin’s flat door, it opened to reveal a very primly dressed man with a thin mustache and unnervingly calm demeanor.

         “Good afternoon, Mister Durin,” The man said.

         “Good Afternoon, Whitcomb,” Thorin stated and then gestured to Bilbo. “Whitcomb, this is Mister Baggins.”

         “How do you do, sir,” Whitcomb stated with a slight bow of his head.

         “Uhm … well, thank you,” Bilbo was a little flustered. Why was this man in Thorin’s flat and just who in the hell—

         “Bilbo,” Thorin said softly, “This is the building concierge, Mister Whitcomb”

         “Ah,” Bilbo got it now.

         “Whitcomb,” Thorin turned back to the older gentleman. “Mister Baggins is to have full access to my flat, day or night; no questions asked. And I hope that if there is anything he needs, he can count on you.”

         “Of course, sir,” Whitcomb said without a blinking of an eye. If Whitcomb was in any way surprised, shocked or appalled, he gave no indication. In fact, Bilbo suspected that Thorin’s statement and his subtle commands were not in any way unusual given the residents at One Tower Bridge. “By the way, sir, in addition to your Waitrose order, there has been a delivery from Harrods.”

         “Excellent,” Thorin said, fishing into his pocket and pulling out several notes —Bilbo didn’t catch the denominations of but he suspected that they weren’t low — and handing them over to Whitcomb. “Thank you for taking care of everything.”

         “Certainly, sir,” Whitcomb said, making the notes disappearing like magic, and quickly leaving.

         Bilbo had a strange feeling when Whitcomb had said ‘order.’ _Why would Thorin need the concierge to put away a grocery order? Had he ordered a lot of perishables?_ Maybe. _Maybe Thorin bought a lot of things that melted?_ But that sounded—

         Bilbo stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. “You said you only ordered _‘a few things.’_ ”

         “In the grand scheme, in a sense,” Thorin said, clearly enjoying Bilbo’s shocked expression, “I did only order a few things.”

         “You ordered the whole store!” Bilbo was blown away. Literally every available space was covered in bags and boxes of food and the small appliances were stacked on the floor, ready to be opened.

         “The ‘the whole store’ is an exaggeration,” Thorin said. “Just most of it.”

         Bilbo wanted to be upset, but it was impossible; everything was amazing! The fridge had been cleaned and was loaded with fresh vegetables, juices, milk, eggs, condiments, and all sorts of delicious things! The freezer held meats of all kinds and cuts, all of which were moved out of the freezer; one just didn't put good meat in the freezer!  Bilbo was almost aghast but he considered that maybe Whitcomb who whoever Whitcomb got to assist him, perhaps, just didn't know proper storage of good cuts of meat, so he forgave the man.  However, Bilbo couldn’t help but gleefully think of all the dishes he could make Thorin! He had asked Thorin, at first, where he wanted everything put, but Thorin had simply laughed; Bilbo was given cart blanche to do as he pleased. Bilbo was ever so pleased to do it!

         Once all the packaged and bulk food items were stored away, Bilbo got to work opening all the lovely electricals!   Yes, he had felt awful to see Thorin spend so much, but all these toys were just too much fun to be upset about!

         “Thorin!” Bilbo called out, turning around in the now full functional, totally dreamy kitchen. At some point Thorin had slipped out, leaving Bilbo in his element, but now all Bilbo wanted to do was thank the man and cook for him!   He figured Thorin wouldn’t be far, so he called out again as he exited the kitchen, “Sweetheart! About dinner! What do you want—”

         Bilbo found Thorin, siting on the couch, silently weeping, trying to put all of Bilbo’s letter back together and into their envelopes.

         Bilbo was there in a thrice, but before he could do more than reach out to him, Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist and pulled them together in a tight embrace, bring his face into Bilbo’s abdomen.

         “It’s okay,” Bilbo said quietly, trying to sooth Thorin. “It’s all right. I’m here and we’re together. It’s all okay.”

 

——-ooooo——-

 

         Thorin had the time of his life at Harrods. Spending money on Bilbo felt more like he was giving himself a gift, rather than the other way around.

         Returning home, however, was the best! Bilbo’s face had been hilarious and Thorin knew that deep down, Bilbo wasn't put off. As Bilbo merrily went about unpacking the Waitrose items, Thorin heard him humming, and felt that was the time to retire and leave Bilbo to make himself at home.

         And frankly, Bilbo was _home_ as far as Thorin was concerned.

         Yet, all the happiness of the day seemed to bleed away as Thorin sat on the couch and gingerly began to piece his precious letters back together. He hadn’t planned on reading them again, but he couldn’t help but catch a glimpse here and there; ‘miss you’, ‘love you’, ‘I’m scared’, ‘my heart aches without you’, ‘where are you?’

 _…_ Where are you …

 _Yes, Thorin, tell us_ , Thorin’s inner voice said to him, _where were you, Thorin, when Bilbo was all alone? While he was hurting and crying for you?!_ His inner voice always sounded like his father. _I’ll tell you where you were, nowhere to be found!_ _You abandoned him! You left him! You can buy the world for Bilbo but it will never relieve you of all that you caused him! Of what he suffered and endured; the pain. And the whole time, you cursed him and hated him!_

 _No, no!_ Thorin wanted to protest. _I never hated him! I never did!_

_Liar! You’re a liar … as well as a worthless cripple!_

         There was no stopping the tears at that point and when Bilbo called for him, Thorin tried to stem the flow so that Bilbo wouldn’t see him so weak, but Bilbo did and that only made it worse.

         “It’s okay,” Bilbo said.

 _No, it’s not okay,_ Thorin wanted to say but couldn’t. _How can it be okay when you’re burdened with such a man as me?!_

         “It’s alright. I’m here and we’re together. It’s all okay.”

         Just like that morning, Thorin was given a choice; if Bilbo wanted it okay, then it would be okay. He forced himself to breath, to still, to quiet his tears and he nodded against Bilbo’s stomach. “It’s okay,” Thorin parroted back at Bilbo. “I’m okay.”

         It took several long minutes but eventually Thorin was able to at least look like he believed his own words and when Bilbo graced him with one of those beautiful smiles, Thorin knew he’d swallow his tears and his pride every time as long as Bilbo was happy.

         Bilbo took over at that point and within a fraction of the time, had all the letters together, in their envelopes, organized in their boxes and stored away. He asked again if Thorn really wanted to keep the letters, especially seeing how they upset him so much, but while Thorin would give Bilbo anything he wanted, he would not part with those letters. Never.

         Bilbo made Chicken Parmesan that night with Aglio et Olio on the side and a fresh salad with Bilbo’s own homemade dressing. _‘You can’t make fresh salad and not make fresh salad dressing!’_ Bilbo had stated, aghast when Thorin asked what brand of dressing Bilbo had used because it was so good.

         At some point, Bilbo’s phone rang, but it was only Ori, so Bilbo said he’d call him later. Then came the text message and Bilbo responded to that.

         “That should keep him quiet.” Bilbo giggled at his own joke, tossing his phone to the side.

         “What did you tell him?” Thorin asked.

         “The truth. We’re fine.”

         Thorin’s inner voice laughed at that, but Thorin pushed it down, shoved it to the back of his mind. But later, as they watched a movie, snuggled close, Thorin couldn’t completely disquiet the voice within.

_Look at you; half a man._

_He doesn’t care about it,_ Thorin thought back. _Bilbo said so._

_He’s only saying that to be kind. What could you possibly offer him?_

_The world if he’ll let me._

_You can play house all you want; it won’t last._

_No, that’s a lie._

_The only lie is the one you keep tell yourself; that Bilbo still loves you._

         “Thorin?”

         Thorin shook himself; he had dozed off. “Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

         “I’m not surprised,” Bilbo said gently. “Come on. Let’s get to bed.”

         But the dark of the bedroom — despite Bilbo’s warm presence — played to Thorin’s fears and when his eyes closed, he dreamed.

 

_Thorin was alone, wandering, searching, but it was a vast desert; barren, empty, cold — even in the blazing heat, Thorin shivered from a chill that settled in his bones. The sky was devoid of clouds, nothing moved on the ground, nothing grew, and the only sound was the soft whistle of the wind as it skimmed off the tops of the sand dunes, blowing smoke-like formation through the air._

_Thorin repeatedly called for Bilbo, but there was no response._

_Soon, Thorin was running as fast as he could across the dry landscape, screaming Bilbo’s name but the sand got deeper and Thorin sank lower, until he didn’t have the strength to go further._

_No, it wasn’t strength, it wasn’t his doing this stopping, it was the sand’s. The sand was slowly devouring him, pulling him down. He struggled but there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to grip and as the sand inched up his neck, he cried Bilbo’s name to the heavens._

 

         “THORIN, WAKE UP!”

         Dazed, sweaty, heaving for breath, Thorin opened his eyes and instantly saw that he was in his bed, in his London flat, the sheets were wrapped tight around his lower body, and Bilbo was there, still gripping Thorin’s shoulders. Slowly Thorin caught his breath and found his mind clearing a bit.

         “Feeling better?” Bilbo asked, so full of concern it hurts.

         Thorin nodded. What could he tell Bilbo? That his lover is slowly going insane? Thorin sat up and breathed; Bilbo rubbing Thorin’s back.

         “Do you want to talk about it?”

         “No. It was just a dream.”

         “Are you sure?   You were screaming my name at the end. Just like this morning.”

         “Was I?” Thorin needed to evade the subject. “I don’t really remember the dream now that I’m awake.”

         Bilbo sighed and for a moment Thorin feared that Bilbo didn’t believe him, until, “It was dinner. I shouldn’t have made such a rich meal so close to bedtime.”

         “No, that wasn’t it,” Thorin insisted; Bilbo blaming himself was completely unacceptable. “This is just … just me.”

         Bilbo sat close, one hand on Thorin’s back doing circles while the other rested on Thorin’s arm like a anchor, keeping Thorin rooted in this world. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

         “No,” Thorin said quickly then realized Bilbo couldn’t know he was avoiding it. “I mean … like I said, I don’t remember it. Just a dream. That’s all.”

         Bilbo nodded.

         “Let’s go back asleep.” Thorin hated how tired Bilbo looked.

         “Really?” Bilbo sounded dubious.

         “Yes,” Thorin moved to lay down and gently took Bilbo with him. “It’s over, I’m … I’m fine. I’m okay.”

         “All right,” Bilbo breathed out.

         Within moments it seemed, Bilbo was out and Thorin lay there, willing himself to sleep, trying to convince himself not to dream, not to think, to just … just sleep.

         But of course, that never worked.

         This time, he dreamt of where it all began.

 

_He was riding along the desert road, his unit in several Foxhounds. He had been ordered by his commanders not to wear any insignia that showed him to be the leader or be in charge or in command; the insurgents always went for the officers first. And because of that, Thorin wasn’t even in the front vehicle._

_It was a routine patrol, nothing unusual at all. They had gotten a report of a small group of hold-outs in a village not far from their location and their orders were to go, investigate and make contact with the villagers; try and root out the insurgents._

_However, rolling into the centre of town, Thorin had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing._

_Get out, get out, get out — every nerve seemed to be telling him to run, to flee, to go. And while he’d had that strange feeling since he’d left England — since leaving Bilbo really — this was different; stronger. Never before had he had such a sense of foreboding._

_Maybe it was the desert heat getting to him?_

_When they exited their rides, and looked around, that’ s when it hit him suddenly; where are all the people? The whole place was totally deserted._

_“Where is everyone?” Someone echoed Thorin’s thoughts._

_“Maybe they’re all out milking the goats,” came a dry reply from somewhere. No one laughed._

_“Back in the vehicles,” Thorin commanded._

_A couple of people complied, but at that same instant, someone shouted to wait and Thorin had just enough time to turn around as Private Smithson, the furthest from him, stepped forward, knelt down and reached out to a crying teenager running towards him._

_NO! NO, NO, NO, NO!_

_“SMITHSON, GET BACK!”_

_That was all Thorin got out before Smithson, the private standing behind Smithson who also sensed the wrongness of the situation and was reaching to pull Smithson back, and the teenage kid who had jumped in Smithson’s arms, all exploded from the bomb strapped around the teen’s chest._

_Then the world turned to hell._

_Thorin lost two more soldiers instantly as bullets rained down on them from every window and door. Thorin screamed orders to take cover and his unit tried as best they could. Their radioman made desperate pleas for back-up right up to the moment a bullet took his helmet — and the back of his head — clean off._

_Through some miracle, a good portion of his unit had found refuge behind a thick wall and Thorin was directing the last of the stragglers to follow when he heard it; the whizzing of a small aerial rocket. Seconds later the Foxhound not far from him exploded in a dazzling, deadly ball of fire, smoke and debris. There was pain, the sensation of flying backwards and then he was on the ground and he couldn’t see clearly because there was blood pouring into his goggles, there was pain across his chest and left shoulder; pain that was burning, biting him and his right leg felt … it felt … odd, it felt nothing. Rolling a bit to look, he mind just couldn’t register that the bottom part of his right leg wasn’t there anymore._

_Time slowed and the blood rushed in his ears making them buzz. Amid the smoke and flames he lay there; the only sounds were his gasping breaths and someone screaming in the distance._

_Oh wait. No, not in the distance. He was the one screaming._

_Bilbo._

_Bilbo was all he could think of and in his mind he saw Bilbo’s beautiful face contorted with pain and hurt, because Thorin was going to die here and never see Bilbo again._

_Thorin heard the thump of footsteps, someone approaching, and that was when Thorin realized this was a dream, because in reality, an insurgent had come out of nowhere and stood over Thorin, aiming a pistol at his head, but just before he pulled the trigger, he was blown back by the rifle fire of two of Thorin’s men who came from the opposite side and pulled Thorin to safety, saving him._

_But this was a dream and through the battle, it was Bilbo who came walking towards him, unscathed by the hail of gunfire, until he stood over Thorin_

_“Bilbo,” Thorin croaked, reaching out for his love._

_But Bilbo only shook his head and stepped back. “What a fucking mess, Thorin.”_

_“Bilbo please … help me.”_

_“Of course, I’ll help you,” Bilbo said, slowly pulling a gun from behind his back and aimed it at Thorin’s head. “Let me help you out of your misery.”_

_“Bilbo!”_

_“Good-bye, Thorin.”_

_“NO!”_

_Bilbo’s gun went off like a cannon._

 

         Thorin, was screaming again, trashing, as he woke. There were hands on him and he instinctively shoved them off him; he couldn’t breath and he had to move, he had to hide, he had to get away, he was shaking and before he knew it he was on the floor, crawling and crying, and then — the bedside lamp came to life and Thorin wasn’t alone anymore.

         Bilbo was there; next to him

         “Darling, it’s all right—”

         “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Thorin panicked, pushing Bilbo away from him.

         “Thorin! It’s me! Bilbo!”

         “NO!”

         Thorin tried to get away but he couldn’t move, but the fear was evaporating quickly and, yes indeed, Thorin saw he was in his flat, he was home, in London, not in Afghanistan, and it all happened long ago, years ago, and Bilbo was there, Thorin was alive and they were together but he was still wounded and always would be; a wounded, worthless, crippled man.

         “Hold on to me,” Bilbo said as he gathered Thorin up and held him tight.

         Thorin’s almost chocked trying to breath and he shivered as the sweat on his body turned cold.   “I need …”

         “What do you need?”

         “Bath … bathroom. The … the blue pill.”

         Bilbo was up like a shot and in moments came back with the blessed pill and a glass of water. “Here, sweetheart.”

         They sat together on the floor for half an hour, Bilbo holding Thorin as he calmed and came back to himself.

         “Do you want to talk about this one?” Bilbo’s voice was soft but there was more than a tiny bit of concern in it.

         Thorin, couldn’t totally ignore this one. “I … I sometimes dream about the … the war.”

         “I see,” Bilbo said. “Anything specific?”

         “No,” Thorin lied. “Vague … imagines and such … I … I don’t usually remember exactly.” Bilbo nodded but waited for Thorin to continue. “I think that other dream triggered it.” That wasn’t true but Thorin knew that Bilbo couldn’t know that. “It’s happened before.”

         Bilbo nodded, but asked quietly, “Do you dream of the war often?”

 _Dammit._ Thorin felt a rise of panic within, but Bilbo couldn’t know. “No. The, uhm … the pill helps a great deal.”

         “Alprazolam,” Bilbo threw out casually.

         “Yeah. How do you know that?”

         “Been there,” Bilbo said dryly. “Taken that.”

         Thorin huffed out a little laugh, despite himself. Maybe he could pull this off. “Well, I don’t like to take them. They still make me a bit fuzzy and I don’t like feeling out of control.” _Christ, that’s why I drink scotch, I can get drunk, and still function._ Of course, now that he thought on it, he hadn’t had a drink in days; in fact, almost a week. Was that having an affect on his dreams? Or triggering them? Thorin didn’t want to think about that. “Let’s go back to bed.”

         “Are you sure? Do you want to stay up for a bit?”

         “No.” Thorin could see how tired Bilbo was; it was in his eyes. “Let’s go back to bed.”

         However, the spell had been broken; although Bilbo seemed to sleep, Thorin could tell it was not peaceful, nor truly restful. And Thorin knew that because he never went back to sleep at all. There was no point; his dreams would only stalk him if he did.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

         “Why didn’t you tell me?!” Bilbo was horrified.

         Thorin just stared at the floor; his face betraying his building emotions.

         But Bilbo was pushing on. “You said you didn’t remember, that you couldn’t remember! Why didn’t you tell me—”

         “Because it … it wasn’t important!” Thorin replied.

         “Wasn’t important?! Having a horrid nightmare about me killing you?!”

         “It wasn’t real!” Thorin shouted. “I knew that!”

         “It doesn’t matter if it was real or not!” Bilbo argued. “And what about the others? All the others!   Are you going to tell me you actually remembered those too?!”

         Thorin didn’t answer.

         “Thorin!” Bilbo demanded.

         “You kept saying things were ‘okay’, ‘fine!’ Obviously—”

         “I didn’t mean it like that!”

         Thorin laughed but it sounded hollow to Gandalf. “What else could you mean?” Thorin asked pointed out. “You wanted everything to be okay, so why would I ruin everything?!”

         Bilbo heaved out a great sigh. “Thorin …” Bilbo said more calmly, clearly trying a different approach. “I want to help … I’m here to help you … but, I’m not a mind reader, you have to tell me—”

         “I wouldn’t have told you.”

         A foul silence hung in the air for several seconds before Bilbo said in quietly, “Don’t you trust me?”

         Thorin scoffed at that. “Of course I do! It isn’t about not trusting you!”

         “Then what is it?”

         “I couldn’t tell you!”

         “But why?!”

         “YOU’D LEAVE ME!”

         Bilbo was stunned. “You really think I’d leave?”

         Thorin seemed to contemplate his answer, before nodding; still refusing to look Bilbo in the eyes.

         “How could you think that?!”

         “How could I not?!” Thorin ground out. “I’d lost you once before! Is it really beyond the realm of possibility that I could loose you again?!”

         Bilbo looked hurt. “Thorin, I _want_ to be here! I _want_ to help you!”

         “You can’t help me!”

         Bilbo reached for Thorin’s hand but Thorin pulled away again; he was getting to the point of not wanting to be touched. Gandalf had seen this in Thorin before; his anger built until even the smallest comfort fanned the flames of rage.

         “Bilbo,” Gandalf interjected quickly, trying to quell the argument and regain some control of the situation. “You of all people know how hard it can be to not only confess one’s inner feelings but how hard it is to tell someone you love of those feelings.” It was almost cruel to throw Bilbo’s experiences back at him, but Gandalf was not going to loose control of the conversation. “And Thorin is right … _you can’t help him_.”

         Bilbo looked ready to argue that point but Gandalf held up a hand to stop him. “Now,” Gandalf said, “why don’t we continue.” 

 

 


	23. MONDAY (Afternoon) - The Storm Breaks, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo continue their story ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very talky chapter ... but I dislike huge blocks of just descriptive narrative ... I'd rather have the characters, 'play out' the scenes. I hope you don't mind.
> 
> IF YOU FIND ANY TYPOS, PLEASE TELL ME SO I CAN CORRECT THEM!
> 
> I'm also sorry to continue to break this up, but it's so massive! it's really hard to get it all out immediately. I do promise that the next part, Part 3, will NOT take as long!
> 
> And honestly, once the last part is out, it will be all downhill from there ... sort of.

* * *

 

 

**_FRIDAY_ **

****

         There was no chance for sleep. Not for Thorin.

         He felt Bilbo drift off at some point; that moment when Bilbo’s muscles relaxed and he was warm and soft, like toffee, in Thorin’s arms. Thorin had to smile at that; Bilbo was actually so much better than toffee.

         Thorin’s smile didn’t last. He was keeping secrets from Bilbo, from the one he confessed he loved. _Did_ love. He couldn’t help wondering, was he lying through omission, or protecting through concealment? What was the balance between privacy and being open? Was keeping his dreams to himself proof of his love, or an affront to it?

         Proof. Yes, that was the answer; for Thorin anyway.

         As far as Thorin was concerned, even after all he and Bilbo had been through, his feelings for Bilbo were only stronger, not weaker. He didn’t doubt his love for a second.

         _What about Bilbo’s love for you?_

Thorin took a slow breath.

         _How long do you think it will last?_

Thorin didn’t want to listen.

_Especially when he finally sees you for what you are; nothing._

Thorin closed his eyes and tried to swallow down his inner voice.

         With a sigh, he waited before gently extracting himself from Bilbo’s embrace. He sat on the side of the bed for a few minutes, slowly putting on his prosthetic, not wanting too many heavy movements too quickly in succession to wake Bilbo. At one point, Bilbo made to roll over and Thorin took the opportunity to stand up. Wrapping his dressing-gown about him, he went out into the flat.

         Upon entering the kitchen, he was startled for a moment; all the new equipment and gadgets. He recovered quickly when his eyes landed on the coffee maker. The new Jura GIGA 5 coffee machine was calling to him and Thorin didn’t want to resist. At the same time, he checked out the newly filled fridge and was glad to see that fortuitously, or maybe because the man knew him well, Collins had sent along a few packages of Warburtons Crumpets. He called downstairs and found out that, yes, the papers had been delivered and Thorin’s would be brought up right away; it’ll be just outside the door.

         Thorin had a quick shower, and dressed, thanking whatever god saw fit to have the bathroom and closet accessible without the need to go near the bed.

         Finished, he got the paper from the front, tossing it on the dining room table as he passed, popped in the crumpets in the new toaster and then poured himself a large black coffee. Within a few he had a hot cup and the news; it wasn’t a bad way to pass the time.

         Would have been nicer to be with Bilbo, of course. However, Thorin wasn’t about to wake Bilbo at six in the morning just to share his meager breakfast. And naturally his fear of falling asleep and having another dream, waking Bilbo yet again, made snuggling out of the question.  

         He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had to think of something. It wouldn’t be long, if things kept up like this, before Bilbo starting asking questions that Thorin couldn’t hide from.

         _He’ll see right through you._

         Thorin drank the last of his coffee as he watched the sun rise over London, trying to ignore that nagging voice inside him

         _And then he’ll leave you._

         Thorin told himself to ignore it.

         _You have nothing.   You_ are _nothing._

Thorin tried to clear his mind; focusing on the newspaper.

_He’d be better off with someone else._

_Someone whole._

         _Someone better._

_Someone ... who isn’t you?_

         “Shut up,” Thorin hissed out, under his breath.

         But he could feel the ‘voice’ smile.

         _He probably already has someone better._

         No. Bilbo wouldn’t be that dishonest. He’d say if there was someone else. In fact, he had said that there was no one. Bilbo wouldn’t lie to him.

         _He’s just trying to spare your feelings. And why wouldn’t he? Surely he merely pities the poor, cripple who only fancies himself a real man._

         “Leave me alone!” Thorin growled out.

         “Oh. I’m sorry.”

         Thorin whipped around and found Bilbo standing there, while the voice in Thorin’s head laughed.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         It felt naughty but oh so nice! To have a lie-in felt decadent, but Bilbo figured it was justified, so therefore it was completely acceptable. It was wondrously perfect, actually.

         Well, almost perfect. With his eyes barely open, Bilbo rolled over, reached out but found a cold, empty space next to him.

         _Where is he?_

         Bilbo sat up and looked about. Everything seemed in its place; nothing amiss. Oh, wait; Thorin’s prosthetic was gone and the door to the room was closed. Bilbo quickly got up, went into the bathroom and, yep, there were used towels hanging up and the shower still had droplets of water on the glass doors. Bilbo brushed his teeth and dressed quickly.

         _What should I make for breakfast?_

         The question was so delicious because, unlike the morning before, Bilbo knew the kitchen to be stocked and ready for use. He almost shivered he was so excited!   He could make Thorin a real breakfast, like they had in Brighton!       

         The kind of breakfast Bilbo had literally dreamed of. Thorin at the table, reading – work papers or the news or something; perhaps even looking over Bilbo’s latest story – and the succulent smell of meat cooking, of breads baking, music playing low in the background, Thorin teasingly asking when breakfast would be done because he wasn’t getting any younger, and Bilbo lovingly snarking that if Thorin wanted food faster, maybe he should get off his sexy arse and help and then Thorin hugging Bilbo from behind and kissing Bilbo’s neck, like he loved, and Bilbo laughing and playfully scolding Thorin that he wasn’t actually helping, but Thorin smiling and telling Bilbo that no, he knew he wasn’t but kissing him was just as tasty.

         Bilbo sighed. _Heaven._

         It seemed horribly sappy and juvenile, Bilbo knew it, but he’d be lying if he denied that it wasn’t exactly the thing he’d always wanted; happy husband, happy home, happy _life_. Just like his parents. What precious few memories he retained of his parents were all filled with laughter and fun and home and – well, love – of being safe and content, wanted and loved.

         As he came into the dining area, he found Thorin sitting at the table, his back to Bilbo.

         “Thorin?” Bilbo said softly.

         “Leave me alone!”

         “Oh. I’m sorry.”

         Thorin turned quickly, wide-eyed.

         “I’ll, just ...” Bilbo pointed over his shoulder and made to turn. “I’ll go back in the bedroom if you need privacy, or—”

         “No!”

         Thorin started to get up but Bilbo stopped. “It’s all right. Really.”

         “No ... I mean ... I ... didn’t mean that for you.”

         Bilbo looked around but there was no one else there. If it wasn’t for him, then—

         “I was just ... just, talking ... to myself ... lost in thought.”

         Oh, well, Bilbo got that, especially after last night. He nodded. “I understand. We’ve all gotten lost in our own heads and spoken aloud. I often do that when I’m writing!” He laughed and was relieved when Thorin seemed to relax a little. “So, what would you like for breakfast?”

         Thorin looked a little sheepish at that and Bilbo noticed the plate on the table.

         “I made a few Warburtons and coffee,” Thorin said.

         “That’s _it_?” Bilbo giggled.

         “Sorry.”

         _Oh dear._ Thorin looked embarrassed, even a little – guilty? – and Bilbo couldn’t have that. Bilbo smiled brightly, and said, “It’s fine ... it’s totally fine. I’ll just go ... make a cuppa and some toast. Would you care for an omelet or something else?”

         Thorin shook his head. Bilbo wondered, what with the dreams the night before and Thorin’s wanting to be alone, maybe he should leave for a bit and give Thorin time by himself.

         “You know,” Bilbo said, walking into the kitchen. “I never brought any clothes with me.” Thorin seemed a bit confused, looking at Bilbo who was dressed, so Bilbo rushed on. “Other than what I wore over here Wednesday night.”

         Thorin nodded, but he looked – was it apprehensive? Bilbo dismissed that; he was imagining things now.

         “So, I’m thinking,” Bilbo continued getting everything out to make tea, “after breakfast, I’m going to head over to my flat.”

         Thorin just stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at Bilbo.

         “You can have some alone time,” Bilbo said, filling the Dualit kettle. “And I can wash up, get fresh clothes, maybe check my email, and ...” Bilbo turned and looked at Thorin who still just stood silent in the doorway. “Do you have a computer I can use? I might bring over my current projects to work on.” Then something dawned on Bilbo and he thought he’d better ask. “Unless you want to have the rest of the day to yourself. We can always met up tomorrow, or—”

         “You’re leaving?”

         Thorin’s voice was low and soft, but there was a funny quality to it.

         “Well ...” Bilbo continued on, ignoring his assumptions. “Didn’t you want to be alone?”

         “No.”

         “Oh. I thought—”

         “You don’t have to go.”

         “I do actually ... I still to get need clothes.”

         “Why didn’t you let me buy you clothes yesterday?”

         Bilbo chuckled. “Thorin, you don’t need to spend your money—”

         “Bilbo,” Thorin sighed. “What good is money if you _don’t_ spend it?”

         “Doesn’t that go against the idea of making money?”

         “First rule of finance; you have to spend it, to make it.”

         “Be that as it may, I have plenty of clothes, sweetheart.  You don’t have to buy me any.”

         Thorin said, taking a breath, “I would’ve liked to.”

         Bilbo nodded; he was quickly learning that he wasn’t going to win the fight about money.

         “And you can shower here, you know.”

         “True, but we’re back to the clothes issue ... why shower only to put on dirty clothes again.”

         Thorin shook his head. “You should’ve let me get you new things _yesterday_.”

         “Well ... yesterday’s gone ... so ...” Bilbo shrugged.

         Thorin didn’t argue.

         “Besides,” Bilbo continued, “As I said, I need to do a few other—”

         “Why not just check your email on your phone?”

         “I don’t get email on my phone.”

         “Why don’t you—”

         Bilbo shook his head. “I have a flip phone.” Thorin looked almost confused at that. “I’ve never needed a smartphone.”

         Thorin sighed again, “I see. But ... why not bring your laptop over here and work? You can check your emails and write ... pulling files off, even onto a flash drive, seems so—”

         “I don’t have a laptop.”

         Thorin looked confused. “What?”

         Bilbo shook his head. “My old computer runs fine.”

         Thorin gaped. “You don’t mean that old tower you had when ... when _we met_?!”

         Bilbo nodded. What was the issue?

         “Jesus on a cracker.” Thorin kind of laughed. “You had an old _Gateway,_ didn’t you?” Thorin vaguely recalled the lump of plastic in a corner of Bilbo’s living room.

         Bilbo nodded again. “I got it the year before the company was bought out. But ... it works fine.”

         “A year before—” Thorin cut himself off; it was clearly unthinkable. “They were acquired in ... what? In two-thousand-and-seven if I remember correctly.”

         Bilbo nodded.

         “You’re telling me,” Thorin said, cocking an eyebrow, “your computer is seven years old?”

         Bilbo shrugged.

         Thorin took a deep breath and then smiled. “Well, I can hook you up.”

         Bilbo smiled. “So you have a computer here I can use?”

         “Fear not. I’ll take care of you.”

         Bilbo giggled. “You always do, it seems like.” Bilbo poured the water for his tea.

         “In fact,” Thorin said. “Why don’t I come with you?”

         That surprised Bilbo. “ _You want to come with me_?”

         “Sure,” Thorin said. “You can show me your flat and we can ... maybe have lunch somewhere or something.”

         “Are you sure?” Bilbo was more than happy to have Thorin tag along, but it would be boring. “I just want to get some clothes and things.”

         “I want to come.”

         “Well ... okay. Great!”

         He was excited!   Bilbo quickly made and finished his small breakfast; then, after a quick clean of the kitchen and the dishes, a speedy brush of his teeth and a half-hearted attempt at taming his curls, Bilbo was ready to go. Thorin had already gone down to bring the car around.

         Bilbo had never been into cars. Oh, he had loved his little Mark IV, but only because it had been inexpensive and was one of the first big purchases he got when he graduated, used as it was. But Thorin’s car was so comfortable and the ride was so smooth. The seats could even be heated! Bilbo really loved that!

         “I love this car,” Bilbo said as he settled onto the warm, leather seat; Thorin had already put the heater on before Bilbo even got in. Bilbo thought that so considerate. They hadn’t taken Thorin’s car the day before, as Bilbo loved to walk and he was more than happy to take cabs or the tube. “And that’s saying something as I don’t usually give a thought about them.”

         “Thank you,” Thorin said.

         “What is it again?” Bilbo knew it was expensive, but cars just looked alike nowadays to him.

         “Bentley Mulsanne.”

         “It’s nice.

         Thorin chuckled. “I’d think it was better than just ‘nice.’”

         “Was it pricey?”

         “Not really ... about two-fifty."

         "Two-fifty?   Two-fifty, what?"

         "Hundred thousand."

         “POUNDS?!”

         Thorin nodded.

         Suddenly, Bilbo remembered how Ori had been so intimidated by Dwalin’s Mercedes; now Bilbo didn’t want to touch even the doorhandle!

         Thorin chuckled again; obviously figuring out Bilbo’s sudden discomfort. “It’s still just a car.”

         “It’s a retirement fund.”

         Thorin laughed at that. “You might want to prepare yourself.”

         _What did that mean?_ “Why?” Bilbo asked.

         “Because my whole family drives cars like this,” Thorin said quietly. “Dis has a Bentley convertible and my parents each have a custom Rolls!”

         Bilbo nodded. He really shouldn’t be surprised. He knew Thorin and his family were posh. It’s just that, it had been in the abstract; like trying to imagine the size of the universe. Until that moment. Of course, judging from Thorin’s flat and expensive artwork and not blinking an eye at Herrod’s or even the Waitrose order – well, Thorin was right; time to get used to the idea of being with someone wealthy.

         “Are you okay?” Thorin asked quietly.

         Bilbo nodded.

         “Are you _sure_?”

         “Yeah. I’m fine.”

         Thorin reached over, placing his left hand, palm up and open, on Bilbo’s thigh. Bilbo was quick to take it and tangle his fingers with Thorin. That felt better; Bilbo felt a little more grounded when he held Thorin’s hand.

         “Are you sure you want to come in?” Bilbo asked as they pulled up to his building.

         “Of course,” Thorin said, unbuckling and reaching for his cane.

         “I have no idea what state it’s in,” Bilbo said.

         “Was it such a mess when you left?” Thorin seemed amused at Bilbo’s statement.

         “No, but ... I have no idea if Ori and Dwalin have been there.”

         “What do you imagine?” Thorin chuckled. “That they’ve had sex on every clear surface?”

         “Surfaces can be cleared if they aren’t.”

         Thorin laughed. “So, in other words, you do think they did it everywhere.”

         Bilbo didn’t answer, just gave Thorin a look that said he wasn’t going to argue that point, so Thorin laughed a bit harder.

         They reached the landing quick enough and Thorin commented that he liked the place; not too overly done, nice character, charming almost. Bilbo took Thorin all the way to the end of the third-floor hall.

         “Here we are.” Bilbo unlocked the door and opened it.

         Nothing was out of place. In fact, the dishes Bilbo had left drying on the counter were still there; Ori hadn’t been home at all it seemed.

         “Give me just a bit,” Bilbo said, closing the door behind Thorin. “I’ll pack and then grab my files and we can go.”

         “Right,” Thorin said, slightly absentmindedly as he was already looking about the flat.

        

\-----ooooo-----

 

         He liked the place.

         Thorin was reminded strongly of Bilbo’s flat in Brighton. Granted, this flat had two bedrooms, the kitchen was far more open, and it was decorated less eclectically; parchment-colored walls, red overstuffed couch, floral chairs and white painted tables, chairs and frames. But there was the same lived-in, homey quality. Like Brighton, there CDs and books about – more books actually – bowls of fruits and veggies on the kitchen counter and dining table, a blanket was thrown over the back of the couch as if ready for someone to pull it down and cuddle up with a good read.

         “Sorry about that mess,” Bilbo said, standing just behind Thorin.

         Thorin smiled to himself; that was exactly what Bilbo had said when he brought Thorin home in Brighton. Thorin wasn’t upset, nor did he feel Bilbo needed to apologize.

         Thorin loved it.

         In fact, Thorin felt even more comfortable here than his own home. Dis always complained that Thorin’s place was nearly antiseptic; Dwalin’s flat had more charm, she’d quip. Thorin used to reply that he liked neat and clean; clean lines and surfaces. And he’d paid good money for decorator’s to achieve just that; white walls, polished floors, black leather and brushed nickel throughout. Thorin thought it discreet and tasteful. Dis, however, said that if purgatory existed, it would look like Thorin’s flat.

         Standing in Bilbo’s flat, Thorin understand Dis’ dislike.

         Of course, the main difference between Thorin’s and Bilbo’s flats was glaringly obvious; Thorin’s didn’t have Bilbo living there. It dawned on Thorin that maybe that was why he’d unconsciously had his decorators go so minimalist; he’d purged from his life anything soft and endearing, anything that would have reminded him of being with Bilbo.

         But things were so reversed now. Now, he never wanted to be reminded of his time without Bilbo again. Thorin figured that at some point, a total remodel his flat was going to needed.

         “You have no need to be sorry,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo a soft smile. “It’s lovely here.”

         Bilbo colored a little at the compliment. “Well,” Bilbo turned and headed off. “Let me go grab my things.”

         Thorin looked around as he listened to Bilbo in his bedroom; drawers opening and closing. Thorin continued his tour, passing Ori’s room; the pictures on the wall that were clearly of Dwalin in different poses a dead give away. Thorin chuckled at that, but he didn’t go in; he had no right without Ori’s permission.

         All in all, he thought Bilbo’s place well proportioned. Sure it was far smaller than his place – hell, Bilbo’s whole flat would fit in his living room and dining room alone. Yet with all the furniture and books and _detritus of life_ about, it didn’t feel cramped or oppressive; it felt like home.

         “Thorin?”

         Bilbo’s call woke Thorin out of his musing. “Yeah?”

         “Can you come here? I ... I want to show you something.”

         Thorin followed Bilbo’s voice and found Bilbo standing in his bedroom, next to the bed, a box open before him.

         “Look at this.”

         Thorin came over and, at first, had no idea what Bilbo was looking through. It seemed an ordinary box, well a small chest really, but it was filled with a hodge-podge of things; CDs and scraps of paper and even books. Bilbo gave Thorin a small smile, a little bittersweet perhaps, and handed Thorin a single, black sock.

         “Do you remember this?”

         Thorin looked at it and for a few long seconds, he drew a complete blank. It was just a sock, nothing special. In fact, it was very similar to the ones he had when he was in the –

         _This was mine!_ Like a light snapping on, Thorin instantly remembered unpacking in Afghanistan and finding a lone sock without a mate. At the time, he’d deduced that he’d most likely left it with Bilbo, but he shrugged it off; it was only a sock.

         Bilbo had kept the forgotten mate all this time.

         Slowly, Thorin reached for some of the other things in the chest. Receipts he’d signed and casually tossed aside; Bilbo had kept them. Two little books of poetry that Thorin had bought as tokens for Bilbo – the same little books that had led to their first ‘fight’ over the nature of love poems – those were tucked away too. Some CDs that they’d listened to together; they were saved. And there was even the business section of a newspaper there; it was the one that Thorin had been reading that lazy Sunday when it rained in Brighton. It had all been saved; lovingly stored away.

         “Thorin?”

         Thorin didn’t hear Bilbo.

         _Oh God!_ It struck him like a dousing of cold water; this would have been his life! This flat was nothing more or less than the manifestation of the life that would’ve been his, had he completed his last tour of duty; it would’ve been to here that he came home! To Bilbo! Even with his injuries, if Bilbo had been in his life, Thorin would have left the hospital and come home _here_! Thorin was standing in the very place that would have been his home, his sanctuary, his safe zone, with Bilbo at his side!

         Except his father took it from him.

         His father robbed _them both_ of what should have been _theirs_ ; life together.

         “Thorin, are you all right?”

         Thorin, again, didn’t hear Bilbo, because when he looked up, he had a clear view of Bilbo’s bathroom. The very place where a hurt and pained Bilbo had reached his lowest point, and broke. Thorin could almost see Bilbo in tears, blood running down his wrists, pooling on the floor around him as he cried, cried for what Thrain had told him; Thorin didn’t love him, never loved him, wanted more than Bilbo had, that their love wasn’t enough, that Bilbo wasn’t enough.

         _What if_ Ori hadn’t come back?       

         _What if_ the ambulance hadn’t come as quick as it had?

         _What if_ Bilbo hadn’t gotten the help he needed in time?!

         Bilbo would have died.

         Bilbo would’ve died believing that Thorin had abandoned and betrayed him.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         “That’s why you were angry with Ori,” Bilbo said quietly.

         “What do you—”

         “Earlier today,” Bilbo said. “In your office ... after the board meeting. When Ori came in, I noticed you looked at him oddly, like he had offended you or something; you looked angry.”

         Thorin didn’t answer.

         “That’s why, isn’t, Thorin?” Bilbo asked.

         Thorin didn’t say.

         “Thorin,” Bilbo wasn’t giving up.

         “Yes!” Thorin spat out. “I was angry with Ori! Is that what you want to hear?”

         “I want to hear the truth,” Bilbo replied, sounding a little sad.

         “The truth,” Thorin said under his breath before snarling, “The truth is, Ori should _never_ have left you! He said himself that you had to persuade him to leave and that he knew something was wrong, but he left anyway!”

         “But he didn’t know what I was thinking!” Bilbo said, a little brokenly. “He couldn’t have known.”

         “It doesn’t change the fact,” Thorin protested, “that he knew something was off and yet he still left! He should _never_ have left you alone!”

         “Thorin,” Bilbo laid a hand on Thorin’s arm to calm, but Thorin twisted away and stood up, pacing the room.

         “What if he hadn’t looked at his phone?!” Thorin shouted. “What if he hadn’t taken a direct route back?! What if he hadn’t gotten back in time?!”

         “Then I would be as you said,” Gandalf said decisively. “Bilbo would have died.” Thorin closed his eyes, balled his hands into fists but he remained silent. “But tell me, Thorin … is it really Ori you are angry with?” Bilbo looked a little confused but Thorin looked away. Gandalf, however, didn’t let up. “Could it be that it’s really yourself you blame for not being there? You know why you weren’t, your ‘hatred’ at the time for Bilbo still in play, and therefore that only makes the anger that much worse. Doesn’t it?”

         Thorin didn’t argue but Bilbo did.

         “But,” Bilbo stressed. “It was my choice! No one could have known what—”

         “This isn’t about your attempt, Bilbo,” Gandalf said. “This is what your attempt reminded Thorin of; his failure to be there when you most needed him.”

         Bilbo just sat quietly, looking at his lap. However, Thorin would not meet Gandalf’s gaze as he sat back down; Gandalf had, once again, seen right through him.

         After a long pause, Gandalf felt it was time to move on. “Let’s continue.”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         _You idiot!_

         Bilbo could’ve kicked himself! Obviously showing Thorin the chest was a mistake! _Look at his face!_    Thorin was trying to be stoic and hold it together, but Bilbo knew what happened. Bilbo had, mistakenly, thought Thorin would’ve been touched that he had kept all these silly little things and they’d have a little laugh over them and kiss and – well, clearly all Bilbo had done was upset Thorin.

         It was supposed to have been a bit of harmless fun!

         _Stupid. Who the hell shows a man missing a leg a single sock and then expects him not to be reminded of being uninjured!_

         “You know ...” Bilbo said, putting a bright smile on his face and closing up the chest. “I’m starving!” He laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as fake as his smile felt.

         Thorin shook his head. “Wh ... what?”

         “I’m hungry,” Bilbo took the chest, shut it, shoved it under his bed and then zippered closed his case as he playfully said, “Didn’t _someone_ promise lunch or something?”

         Thorin seemed to blink back surprise but then smiled. “Sure. Sounds good.”

         “Excellent!” Bilbo grabbed the suitcase with one hand, hooked his free hand around Thorin’s arm and pulled to the door. “I know this great little Thai place not far from here!”

         All the way down to the car, on the drive to the restaurant and mostly through ordering and waiting for their food, Bilbo kept up a steady stream of chatter. He talked about whatever cam to mind; his neighborhood, his work, the restaurant – from the food to the wait staff – what-have-you, _anything_ so long as Thorin didn’t upset; no looking back.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         Thorin wasn’t fooled. Bilbo was doing everything to dispel the dark cloud that Thorin had cast over them. And why wouldn’t he? Thorin had made the mistake of letting his emotions run away with him and now look what he’d done; he’d upset Bilbo, made him feel uncomfortable in his own flat. Bilbo deserved happiness and peace, he deserved to be taken care of and looked after; all the things Thorin had promised to do and yet had failed miserably at.    

         Thorin was going to have to be better at keeping himself under control!

         He’d already put Bilbo through three years of hell. He’d abandoned Bilbo and his absence had only caused Bilbo pain and heartache; pushed him to commit the most desperate of acts. Now they were finally together and Thorin was fucking it all up with his useless, maudlin musings and Bilbo had clearly noticed.

         Thorin wanted to kick himself; why the hell hadn’t he been more careful?! He’d been doing a good job keeping everything secret from his family and friends for the last three years, so what was the problem now?

         No. Best to keep smiling and moving forward. Bilbo deserved peace of mind and a want-less life, so who the fuck was Thorin to upset the apple cart?

         _The miserable cripple who’d hurt him in the first place, that’s who._

         Thorin ignored the voice in his head and concentrated on Bilbo’s voice; it was really the one thing that kept the voice at bay. Well, that and a good deal of alcohol.

         Thorin had a plan, but as they drove away from the restaurant, he wasn’t sure how he was going to pull off—

         “Oh, shit!”

         “What’s wrong?” Thorin asked, concerned.

         Bilbo huffed out a sigh. “It just dawned on me, in my rush, I packed everything I needed ... except for fucking underwear!”

         Bilbo said the last of that sentence rather drily and it was adorable to Thorin; he laughed. “We can always go buy underwear, you know.”

         “No,” Bilbo said. “I hate to ask, but could you just swing back to the flat?”

         Thorin held his breath. He didn’t want to go back there.

         Bilbo seemed to sense that. “I’ll only be a second. You can wait in the car.”

         That didn’t sit well with Thorin either, but he took a breath and relaxed, nodding. However, it was perfect for his idea. “No worries.”

         They drove on, but when they should have turned left, Thorin turned right.

         “It’s ... the other way, sweetheart,” Bilbo said, quietly, obviously not wanting to call Thorin out on his driving.

         “I know,” Thorin said, trying to hide his smirk.

         “Then why—”

         “Just relax.”

         “Thorin, where are—”

         “Trust me.”

         Bilbo sighed but didn’t argue.

         _That’s right, babe,_ Thorin thought with an inward smile _. Let me do this for you._

It was less than five minutes later when they pulled into a car park just off Great Marlborough St.

         “Where are we going?” Bilbo asked, as he hurriedly followed Thorin.

         “Just down the street,” Thorin said.

         “Yes, but—”

         “You’ll see.”

         Not a minute later, Thorin stopped. “Here we go.” Thorin gestured to the store across the street.

         Bilbo blanched. “Liberty?! Are you nuts?”

         “I don’t think so,” Thorin said. “At least, not that I will admit.”

         “Thorin, it’s—”

         “Perfect? I know, right?” Thorin started across the road and Bilbo had no choice but to follow.

         Bilbo tried to protest but Thorin ignored him, entering Liberty with determination, and taking the lifts up to the Men’s floor. When the doors opened, Thorin almost laughed when Bilbo barely suppressed a gasp.

         “Oh my god,” Bilbo whispered, “Thorin I only need some y-fronts; that’s it!”

         “Of course you do,” Thorin said absentmindedly, as he motioned at a salesman.

         “May I help you?” the salesman asked, in a rather bored voice, looking both of them up and down and clearly unimpressed with their casual attire.

         Bilbo flushed a little, but Thorin bristled. “I’m not sure. Can you drop the attitude?”

         Now the salesman seemed affronted, but before he could answer, Thorin reached for his wallet and flashed a card at the man.

         The salesman blanched and swallowed quickly. “I’d be more than happy to assist you in any way possible.” Thorin wouldn’t have been surprised if the man knelt down right then and kissed his arse; that was the point of course.

         “It’s not me you need to make happy,” Thorin said, indicating Bilbo next to him. “My partner needs new clothes.”

         “Of course!” The salesman turned a huge grin onto Bilbo.

         “Just ...” Bilbo stuttered out, taken aback by the salesman wolf-like grin. “Just ... under ... things.”

         “Whatever you need!” The salesman insisted to Bilbo and motioned for another lady to come over. “We will be more than happy to take care of you!”

         “See that you do,” Thorin said, low but firmly. “His style is classic, by the way; waistcoats, tweeds ... think English Professor.” The man nodded and Thorin turned to Bilbo. “I’ll see you in a bit, love.”

         “What?!” Bilbo said, looking back over his shoulder as the salespeople led him away. “Aren’t you coming with me?!”

         “I’ve a quick errand to run,” Thorin said with a wink. “I’ll return soon.” Bilbo looked a little panicked but allowed himself be led away. In Thorin’s opinion, Bilbo needed a little pampering. “Oh, yeah, one more thing!” Thorin called out and the salespeople almost fell over turning back around. “He likes tea ... see that he gets some.”

         “Absolutely, sir,” the saleswoman said while the salesman nodded.

         Bilbo looked imploringly over his shoulder at Thorin, who in turn smiled back and gave him a nod. _I’ll only be a short while, sweetheart._

         Thorin left the store; his determination once again, riding high.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         At first, he was scared.

         He had no clue what was going on? He only needed a few y-fronts and maybe some undershirts; that’s it! But then Thorin bailed on him! That made him mad. How could Thorin bring him to Liberty, of all places, snap his fingers, some how get the salespeople to trip over themselves to wait on Bilbo and then ... _just leave_!

         What the hell?!

         Then tea arrived. A beautiful, large cup of fresh, tasty, perfectly brewed tea, sweetened just how he liked it; two sugars and a touch of half and half. Oh god, had that helped!

         And frankly, he was being pampered to the extreme!

         He wasn’t used to this kind of treatment. Usually when he went clothes shopping, he went to vintage clothing stores to find his waistcoats, and Mark and Spencer’s was fine for jeans and shirts. Sometimes, if Harrod’s or Harvey Nichols was having a really big sale, or if they were marking down their winter clothes because they wanted to make room for spring, or something, he’d shop at the higher end places.

         But this? Being waited on hand and foot was just crazy!

         He feared getting used to this!

         And the clothes! Designers he’d only dreamed about wearing, waistcoats of silk, of cotton, of wool, in tweeds, some embroidered and hand-stitched. Shirts of the finest cotton; soft to the touch, but designed to last a lifetime. Pants of all colors; navy, khaki, olive, dove grey, pale tan, and made from casual, but fashionable, denim, some made of twill, a few of linen, and a couple of no-iron blends. And shoes? He’d tried all types: boots, saddle shoes, loafers, oxfords, even some trendy trainers.

         “That looks good.”

         Bilbo whipped around. “Thorin!”

         Thorin winked at him and looked him up and down. “I like that color on you.”

         Bilbo was wearing a French blue waistcoat that bore Fleur-de-Lis’ in a diagonal pattern and embroidered with a lovely gold thread, a pale blue shirt buttoned to the neck, and soft dark grey pants with matching grey and white saddle shoes. “Should I wear a tie with this?”

         Thorin shook his head. “I don’t think so, but ... it’s up to you.”

         “I kind of like it without.”

         Thorin took a drink from a large Starbucks cup.

         “I guess you didn’t bring me any,” Bilbo quipped, giving the coffee a pointed look.

         “Here,” Thorin held out the cup for Bilbo to take, and Bilbo leaned forward, so as not to drip on the clothes, taking a healthy swig of rich coffee; black of course.

         “What time is it?” Bilbo asked; he’d lost all track of it.

         Thorin glanced around, his eyes finally finding a clock. “About three forty-five.”

         “Oh my god, really?” Bilbo had been here for almost an hour and half. “Where did you go?”

         “Errand,” Thorin said, taking a seat nearby as the salespeople brought more clothes out.

         “In other words,” Bilbo said, as he was gently helped out of his current waistcoat and shirt. “You aren’t going to tell me.”

         “Won’t I?” Thorin said, taking another sip of coffee, but offering nothing else in the way of explanation.

         Bilbo laughed. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” An odd looked passed over Thorin face, or so Bilbo thought but it was gone in a second.

         “I’ll do that,” Thorin said, wiggling his eyebrows and causing Bilbo to laugh again. “Wait a minute!” Thorin called out to the saleswoman who was putting the blue waistcoat and shirt away. “Don’t loose those.”

         “Thorin!” Bilbo said. “Those are horribly expensive.”

         Thorin shrugged.

         “Should I wrap them up, sir?” the lady asked with a gleeful look.

         “No!” Bilbo said.

         “Yes,” Thorin said pointedly. “And what else did you show him?”

         Immediately, all the most expensive things Bilbo had rejected were brought out and put on display.

         “No, Thorin,” Bilbo said, a touch of warning in his voice.

         But Thorin ignored him. “I like that red one.” It was a wine-colored damask, the pattern and background so close in hue that it was barely visible; very discreet.

         “It also comes in other colors,” the woman said, smiling, and held up waistcoats of the same damask in gold, deep sage, silver and black.

         “Is there any color you didn’t like?” Thorin asked Bilbo.

         “Well ...” Bilbo was taken aback. “They’re all lovely, but—”

         “We’ll take all of them,” Thorin said.

         Bilbo was speechless.

         “What about shirts?” Thorin asked the woman. Again, as if by magic, she produced every shirt Bilbo had tried on. Thorin nodded, but pointed a few out. “Not the black one ... and I’m not thrilled with that yellow ... unless you are, sweetheart.”

         Bilbo shook his head; he hadn’t been thrilled with those two either.

         “That’s decided,” Thorin said. “We’ll take all the rest of the shirts.”

         Bilbo could only watch as every pair of pants he tried on joined the waistcoats and shirts. He was ushered into the dressing room and by the time he had on his old clothes and came out, several pairs of shoes were being boxed up.

         Bilbo came and stood next to Thorin at the checkout counter.

         “You didn’t have to do all this,” Bilbo whispered. Part of him felt guilty for the fun he’d been having before Thorin returned.

         “You’re right,” Thorin said gently. “I don’t have to ... I _want_ to.” He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. If the salespeople were shocked or thought it inappropriate, they didn’t make any indication of it; probably whatever card Thorin had flashed at them kept their opinions in check.

         “But you’ve already spent so much at Harrod’s yesterday and all the food, and—”

         “Please let me.”

         Bilbo stilled and looked at Thorin, at the painfully pleading look on his face.

         “I have three years of birthday and anniversary presents, and Christmas, boxing day, and just-because gifts to make up for. Please.”

         _Shut up, Baggins, just shut up!_ Bilbo could kick himself. _What the hell is wrong with me? Just shut the fuck up and let Thorin have this!_ Bilbo smiled as sweetly as he could. “Of course. Thank you.”

         “You do _like_ the clothes, don’t you?” Thorin asked, suddenly seemingly unsure.

         “I love them!” And Bilbo wasn’t lying; they were beautiful.

         “Good,” Thorin said, pleased. Then he turned cheeky. “I do hope somewhere along the way, you did get underwear.”

         Bilbo laughed. “Yes, I did!”

         “Be terrible if I had to go help you pick those out.” Thorin winked at him.

         “Terrible isn’t the word I’d use,” Bilbo said blushing. “But let’s not get into that here at the counter.”

         Thorin laughed now, and to Bilbo’s relief, it sounded genuine and happy. Good. Something caught Thorin’s eye and he turned to the salesman. “You also make clothes, right?”

         “Indeed we do, sir.”

         Thorin seemed to chew on that for a second. “Do you have tartans?”

         “We have a large selections of tartans available. Rarer ones we can order in.”

         “Do you have a list of tartans you carry?” Thorin asked and the salesman removed a catalog from behind the check-out. Bilbo watched as Thorin flipped through it, clearly looking for something in particular, and finally stopping on a lovely deep blue and silver tartan. “This one.”

         Bilbo looked down and was surprised to see the clan; _MacDurin_. “I had no idea you were Scottish!”

         “Generations ago,” Thorin replied before asking the salesman, “Do you have Mister Baggins’ measurements?” The man nodded. “Good. I want a waistcoat and jacket made for him, and pants to match the background color.”

         “That shouldn’t be a problem, sir.”

         “How soon can it be finished?” Thorin asked firmly.

         “We _could_ have it ready by Monday morning,” the salesman answered, “but it will cost—”

         “I didn’t ask about the cost.” Thorin sighed, sounding slightly annoyed.

         “Thorin,” Bilbo release a little laugh, looking between the two men, “it doesn’t have to be a rush.” But the salesman didn’t seem offended or even surprised at Thorin’s tone and Thorin looked pleased as the man wrote up the ticket and had Thorin sign.

         “Very good, sir,” the man said. “With the special order, your total—”

         “It doesn’t matter,” Thorin said, but was too late.

         “—is seventy-four forty-eight and thirty-two pence.”

         There was silence for a second as Bilbo took in what the man said, before exclaiming, “ _Seventy-four_ —”

         “Forty-eight,” the salesman finished, looking confused as to why Bilbo was surprised, before adding, “and thirty-two pence.”

         “Oh my g—”

         “It’s fine,” Thorin said with a shrug. Thorin pulled out his wallet and placed a black and purple colored credit card on the counter; a Coutt’s World Card.

         _No wonder the salesman had blanched_ , Bilbo thought. There was much speculation that Coutt’s was the bank used by the Royal Family; although no one had yet to confirm or deny the rumors. Supposedly there was an ATM in the basement of Buckingham Palace. Bilbo shook his head; he gave up.

         “Ready, love?” Thorin said, pulling Bilbo out of his inner musings.

         Bilbo smiled and nodded; he wasn’t sure of his voice right then. Thorin had arranged to have everything, except the underwear, which was bagged and ready to go, delivered the next day.

         “Good day,” Thorin said, smiling, giving Bilbo a wink as they exited the store.

         “If you say so,” Bilbo said, a little stunned. Honestly, he never expected—

         “You don’t ... think so?”

         Once again, Thorin looked concerned; worried perhaps. And Bilbo told himself to just shut up about it! Bilbo smiled brightly. “I don’t think ‘good’ is quite the word I’d use for what just happened!” They both laughed and it did seem to help Thorin relax a bit. “So ... where to now?”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         _“So ... where to now?”_

         “I figured we’d head ho—” Thorin said, but stopping himself. Bilbo had called his flat ‘home’ just the day before. But, did that mean Thorin could do the same? Did he have that privilege? That right? Would he be making an assumption that was not his to make? Now that he thought of it, had Bilbo said ‘home’ becuase he was referring to Thorin’s home and not as a place of ‘their’s?’ Could Thorin even assume to call Bilbo and himself ‘them’ ... ‘us’ ... ‘we’ ... or was he only grasping at—

         “I’d like to head home,” Bilbo said lightly, opening the passenger door.

         “Home,” Thorin repeated as he slipped into the driver’s seat. _But did that mean_ —  

         “Indeed,” Bilbo said, getting into the car and setting his shopping bag on the floor between his feet. “I am in desperate need of tea,” Bilbo giggled, giving Thorin a bright smile. “And I guess I should make room ... do you want me to hang the new clothes in the second bedroom, or—”

         “No,” Thorin said quickly, relief washing over him. _Home is my place;_ our _place_. “Put them in the master closet.”

         “Are you sure?” Bilbo asked, sounding doubtful. “They’ll be out of your way if I put them in the second bedroom.”

         “No. Put them in the master.” Thorin shrugged, making it no big deal, but in his heart, as silly as it sounded, having Bilbo’s clothes there, next to his own, would be physical evidence that Bilbo was truly there with him—it wasn’t just a dream.

         “You know,” Bilbo said with a mirthful look. “I’m not sure I’ll make it home for tea.”

         “Oh, really?” Thorin said, feeling lighthearted suddenly. “Why do you say that?”

         “I’m craving it _now_ ,” Bilbo laughed. “Maybe I should make you stop by Starbucks and get me a Tea Latte.”

         “Make me?” Thorin threw Bilbo smirk.

         “Well ...” Bilbo shrugged, returning smirk. “Ask assertively?”

         Thorin had to laugh. He has the instant image of Bilbo, hands on hips, stamping a foot and asking ‘assertively’ for Thorin to get him tea. Who could resist?

         “If you want,” Thorin said, starting the car, and sending a quick text before backing up, out of the space.

         “No,” Bilbo said, settling back. “I’m only teasing. Although, I will tell you, they are good!”

         “I’m sure,” Thorin said, making a mental note to stop at the local Starbucks near the flat.

         As they came to Regent street, Bilbo sighed and looked to the left; that was where Thorin should have turned to head back. But he turned right.

         “Thorin?”

         Thorin smiled. “Remember that errand I had to run?”

         “How could I forget,” Bilbo said dryly. “You abandoned me at Liberty.”

         Thorin’s stomach churned at the word ‘abandoned.’ He had, hadn’t he. He’d left Bilbo on his own. But he told himself then and reminded himself now that it had been for a good reason. It was just – well, he’d never leave Bilbo’s side again.

         “We are making a quick stop,” Thorin said, quickly pulling over to the side.

         Bilbo sat up and looked around.

         They’d stopped right outside the Apple store.

         “Thorin, what did you—”

         But Thorin was rolling down his window as a smiling young man came up to the car; two large bags in his hand. “Thank you, Brian.”

         “Not a problem, Mister Durin!” said the young man, Brian, his smile breaking into a toothy grin. Thorin pushed a button that Bilbo didn’t notice and the boot opened. Brian moved quickly to the back, clearly putting the bags inside, and then reappeared as the boot closed. “Here’s the smaller package, Mister Durin.” Brian gave Bilbo a smile and raised his hand in greeting.

         “Brian,” Thorin said, taking the small plastic bag that had been inside one of the bigger ones. “This is my ... my partner, Bilbo.”

         It seemed impossible, but Brian’s smile actually got bigger. “How do you do, Mister Baggins! I’ve heard a good deal about you!” Brian reached his hand through the car, almost striking Thorin in the nose with an elbow, but making Thorin snicker at the friendly, if near-impertinent, gesture. It was rather funny.

         Bilbo, to his credit, smiled sincerely, obviously suppressing his own amusement and simply shook the youth’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Brian.”

         “Thank you again,” Thorin said, as Brian pulled back his hand and knelt by the car.

         “My pleasure, Mister Durin,” Brian said, and giving Thorin a wink. “Let me know if you need me to come over.” With that, Brian was up and gone; heading back into the store with a jaunty stride.

         “‘ _Let me know if you need me to come over?_ ’” Bilbo repeated slowly, giving Thorin a raised eyebrow.

         Thorin couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s not meant as you think.”

         “And what is it I’m thinking?” Bilbo asked, his look not weavering.

         Thorin smiled, leaned forward and gave Bilbo a deep, meaningful kiss. He was the only one Thorin loved; had ever loved.

         Would _ever_ love.

         “I asked Brian,” Thorin said, sitting back and turning his head so that he could check traffic, “if he would be willing to come over ... on his own time ... and help you with your _new_ toys.”

         Bilbo looked incredulous as Thorin pulled into traffic, for a second, before exclaiming, “New toys?! What do—”

         “Here,” Thorin said, lifting the smaller bag Brain had given him and handing it to Bilbo. “Happy Anniversary.”

         “Anniversary?” Bilbo asked and then a light went off. “Oh.”

         Thorin nodded. Three years. They’d met three years ago; almost to the day.

         “I’m ...” Bilbo hesitated for a moment. “I’m afraid I didn’t get you anything.”

         Thorin shook his head. “I have you. I don’t need anything else.”

         “But, you’ve done so much, _bought_ so much, for me already.”

         “I did that because I wanted to,” Thorin said firmly. “These haven’t really been anniversary gifts ... that just happens to be a happy conquencidence.”

         Bilbo sighed, but opened the bag. “Oh my, God.” Bilbo pulled out a white box, but opened it to find it ... empty.

         “Oops,” Thorin said with a smile. “That’s mine.” Thorin reached into his pocket and pulled out a new iPhone 6-Plus to show Bilbo. “There should be a few other boxes in there for you.” Bilbo looked surprised, but reached in and pulled out another large box. This one was a white, iPhone 6. “I thought the Plus might be too big for you, so I got you the regular size.”

         “The regular size is almost to big,” Bilbo said, gently turning the phone over in his hands. But he didn’t look unhappy. “It’s so ... sleek and,” he turned it over again, “beautiful.”

         Thorin was more than pleased.

         Bilbo turned pressed the home button. “Oh. It’s telling me ‘Hello.’”

         Thorin laughed. “Just follow the instructions. It’s easy.”

         “Right,” Bilbo said with a deep breath. “Easy.” But he hit a snag. “What’s ‘iCloud Backup?’”

         “Digital storage. Which I doubt you have since you don’t have a smartphone.”

         “I don’t.”

         “And more importantly, need an Apple Account for.”

         “I don’t have an Apple account either.”

         Thorin figured as much. “For right now,” Thorin said, “touch on the ‘Set Up as New iPhone’ and on the next screen, you should be able to make a new account.” But Thorin had a better idea. “Of course, you are totally free to use my account.”

         “Doesn’t it cost money?”

         “No. It’s free.”

         “I thought you had to pay for songs and things.”

         “The account is free. The apps and songs are not.”

         “Oh.”

         Thorin chuckled at that. “Have you really never download music or anything?”

         Bilbo shook his head.

         “Well then, it’s past time we brought you into the twenty-first century.”

         “I’m not _that_ behind,” Bilbo said, sounding a little pouty but even Thorin could tell it was in fun. “Besides, you told me yourself you hated computers too!”

         “I hate using one for anything but work,” Thorin clarified. “But that doesn’t mean I hate technology.”

         “How do I get my phone number to work on this?”

         “We just have to take it to your carrier and have them transfer the sim card.”   But Thorin had a better idea. “You know, I have to change my phone out now, so we could just get you a new number under my plan.”

         Bilbo wasn’t fooled. “Oh sure, and then you pay for it.”

         Thorin shrugged it off. What was the problem?

         “I can afford my own phone.”

         “I’m not saying you can’t, but—”

         “You aren’t going to pay for everything!”

         “Why have separate accounts? Be cheaper to have two numbers on one plan.”

         Bilbo hummed at that. “That’s technically true, but—”

         “If you are so offended about sharing an account—”

         “I didn’t say I was offended!”

         “—you can pay the added difference.”

         Bilbo nodded, going back to looking over his phone. In no time he had it on and was clicking through the pre-installed apps. But suddenly stopped and looked at Thorin. “What was in the other two bags that Brian put in the boot?”

         _Crap._ Thorin had hoped to get home before Bilbo remembered. “Just a little ... surprise.”

         Bilbo was immediately suspecious. “What surprise and for whom?”

         Thorin cleared his throat. “Well ... they’re for—”

         “ _They_?!”

         “—us to use.”

         “Thorin!”

         “I got us two new laptops.”

         Bilbo sat there, gape-mouthed.

         “Look,” Thorin decided on using the ‘logical’ explanation. “You needed a computer to use—”

         “I thought you said you had one?”

         “I never said I had one—”

         “You implied!”

         “—at home. So I thought ... it would be nice ... maybe I should have one at ... the flat ... for us to use.”

         “Then why two?”

         “Well ... uhm ... I ...”

         “Thorin.” Bilbo was getting cross.

         “If one is nice, then I thought ... two ... would be ... nicer.”

         Bilbo just groaned. “Oh, Thorin.”

         Thorin shrugged. “This way, I will have one to use if I should ... you know ... want to work from home but it wouldn’t have to impact you if you are writing or working or ... whatever.”

         Bilbo released a heavy sigh.

         “Think of it as birthday gifts.”

         “My birthday isn’t until September.”

         “An early birthday gift,” Thorin said with a smile. “And mine was this past Wednesday, so ... they’re our ... birthday gifts.”

         Bilbo huffed out a laugh but he shook his head and wrapped an arm through one of Thorin’s, laying his head on Thorin’s shoulder. “What am I going to do with you?”

         Thorin didn’t say anything, but the answer to that question was simple.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         “You never did answer that question,” Bilbo said quietly.

         Thorin didn’t answer now.

         "Why did you buy so much?"

         Still no answer.

         “I think it’s fairly obvious,” Gandalf said.

         “Then I must be an idiot," Bilbo commented.

         “I already told you why I bought you those things!” Thorin was starting to get cross.

         “Gifts.”

         “Do you doubt me?”

         “Were they just gifts or were you—” Bilbo was clearly reluctant to say anything.

         But Thorin wanted to hear. “Go on!”

         Bilbo sighed. “Were you trying to ... to buy my love?”

         “Is _that_ what you _think_?!” Thorin really was getting cross now.

         “I don’t know!” Bilbo shouted. “Why did you spend so much?!”

         “Fucking Christ!” Thorin spat out. “It’s only money and not even that much!”

         “Not to you,” Gandalf said gently. “But to someone like Bilbo, it’s rather unprecedented.”

         “I’m sorry, then!” Thorin said, scowling at the carpet. “I’m sorry I have money!”

         “That’s not fair, Thorin,” Bilbo stated. “I don’t want you to be sorry, I just—”

         “Why can’t you believe me?!”

         “Because they weren’t just gifts,” Gandalf said, leaning back in his chair. Both men looked at him, Bilbo concerned and Thorin angry. “It was the meaning behind them.”

         “I told you—”

         “Yes,” Gandalf cut Thorin off. “Gifts for the last three years. I got that. And frankly, I don’t doubt in your mind they were. But the real meaning is glaringly obvious.”

         Thorin rolled his eyes. “Pray tell us then, oh wise one.”

         Gandalf cocked an eyebrow. “Fear.”

         “Really?” Thorin said with a hollow laugh. “Fear of fucking what?”

         Gandalf almost shook his head. He felt like he was back at his first session with Thorin all over again. “Of Bilbo leaving you.”

         “Well, that isn’t news,” Thorin said. “We’ve already been down that road.”

         “Yes, but see,” Gandalf pushed on, “you’ve now paved that road with things meant to keep Bilbo with you. Stocked your kitchen, new appliances and toys, a whole new wardrobe, a new computer ... even offering to put him on your accounts ... all designed to keep Bilbo there, in your flat—”

         “ _Our_ flat,” Thorin stated.

         “ _Your_ flat,” Gandalf corrected. “And let’s remember the dreams.”

         Thorin suddenly looked apprehensive.

         “What do they have to do with this?” Bilbo asked.

         “Exam them,” Gandalf said. “The desert dream ... a desert ... a vast, empty plain, hot and dry, no one about for miles, and in the end, the sands devour Thorin, pull him down into the landscape and basically make a part of it ... totally isolated from the world; lost if you will; alone.”

         Bilbo looked to Thorin but Thorin would not meet his gaze.

         “And what of the other dream,” Gandalf continued. “Dreaming of the very moment when his life changed forever, when he was injured, filled with fear of never seeing you again, once more losing you, and at the end, it is the very thing he fears losing that comes out of the dust to be rid of him. Not only losing you but being rejected by you, ‘put out of his misery’ I believe he said.”

         Bilbo said nothing. Thorin only continued to stare at the floor. Neither looked at the other.

         “Thorin has done all he can,” Gandalf stated. “To remove any obstacle that would make you want to leave. Clothes, a computer for writing, food, even a dream kitchen, all bought and presented so that you would have no reason to leave. And probably hoping to distract you as well.”

         “From what?” Bilbo asked.

         “The one thing he truly feared would drive you away,” Gandalf answered. “The one thing that couldn’t be bought or removed; his injuries.”

         Bilbo looked to Thorin. “Is that true?” But Thorin still refused to look at him.

         “Thorin has never really dealt with his injuries,” Gandalf said. “They were the first thing he feared to lose you over and, at the time and according to his father’s lies, that fear came true. So he pushed those feelings deep down inside him and let his love fester to hatred ... or so he convinced himself. Only that fear never left him, it merely grew in the dark of his heart and now it is driving everything he is doing; his fear of losing you because he sees himself as less than he was, because he was injured.”

         “I told you I don’t care about them,” Bilbo said, reaching out to touch Thorin’s arm but Thorin pulled it away. “Thorin it doesn’t matter.”

         “But it does, Bilbo,” Gandalf insisted.

         “Not to me,” Bilbo stated.

         “But don’t you see,” Gandalf said, “it’s not about you, in the end. It’s about Thorin’s feelings. And your continued pretenses that ‘it’s okay’, that everything ‘is fine’ and that ‘you don’t care’ don’t actually help the situation.” Bilbo looked stricken and Gandalf hurried to finish. “By not letting Thorin expression those feelings, by pretending there is nothing wrong, you invalidate Thorin’s feelings. You only push them further into the dark and they continue to fester until they manifest themselves as dark dreams and nightmares; ones where he looses you over and over and over.”

         Bilbo looked miserable and Thorin had closed his eyes as if he could block out the fear that Gandalf has once again so expertly shined a light on.

         “And I will bet you,” Gandalf concluded, “that night, Thorin had one or more of his dreams. Didn’t you Thorin?”

         At first, it seemed like Thorin wouldn't answer, but Gandalf was patient and after a few long seconds, Thorin nodded.

         “You did?” Bilbo asked, sounding a little broken.

         Thorin nodded again.

         “And I’m guessing a bad one,” Gandalf said.

         Thorin sighed.  “A new one ... or at least ... it was then.”

         “Go on, Thorin,” Gandalf ordered. "Tell us."  And Thorin obeyed.

 

 

 


	24. MONDAY (Afternoon) - The Storm Breaks, Part 3

* * *

 

_“And I will bet you,” Gandalf concluded, “that night, Thorin had one or more of his dreams. Didn’t you Thorin?”_

_At first, it seemed like Thorin wouldn't answer, but Gandalf was patient and after a few long seconds, Thorin nodded._

_“You did?” Bilbo asked, sounding a little broken._

_Thorin nodded again._

_“And I’m guessing a bad one,” Gandalf said._

_Thorin sighed.  “A new one ... or at least ... it was then.”_

_“Go on, Thorin,” Gandalf ordered. "Tell us."  And Thorin obeyed._

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_FRIDAY AFTERNOON_ **

 

         Thorin couldn’t help but be amused! It hadn’t taken Bilbo long to become completely smitten; by the time they reached the mobile store, Bilbo was more than a little hesitant to just hand over his precious phone to the technician.

         “Are you sure?” Bilbo said, looking dubious.

         “I’m positive,” Thorin said, a smile playing on his lips. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

         “He might drop it,” Bilbo whispered loudly, before he gave a quick glare at the young technician behind the counter, as if the guy was a well-known phone killer.

         “He needs the phone,” Thorin said, amused, “in order to activate it.”

         “But can’t he do that ... remotely, or something?” Bilbo said, looking between Thorin and the very patient technician, while maintaining a death grip on his new phone. “Isn’t that the whole point of smartphones?”

         Thorin said, unable to hold back his grin. “True, in many ways, but he still needs _the actual phone_ to set it up.”

         Bilbo gave the tech one of his famous, _‘I’m not happy about this’_ looks, but did, reluctantly, hand over his new phone, watching the guy like a lioness watching over her cub.

         “Don’t worry, love,” Thorin said with a shrug. “If anything horrible _were_ to happen they’ll replace it.”

         Bilbo sighed, giving Thorin another famous look, his _‘That’s so not the point’_ look. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

         Thorin huffed out a laugh. “They’re _all_ the same, babe!”

         Bilbo shook his head, and said very quietly, “But that’s the one _you_ picked out for me.”

         _Oh._ Thorin felt a surge of pride and affection, whispering to Bilbo, “Then I’ll just pick out another for you.”

         However, the whole situation meant that, in his worry, Bilbo was a far more pliable and easily agreed to porting his old phone number onto Thorin’s account and Thorin got Bilbo to agree to share his Apple account as well. It was logical, Thorin insisted; one bill, less money, etc. It sounded good anyway.

         As they drove back to the flat, Thorin was lost in thought about setting up Bilbo’s laptop when a loud ‘SQUACK!’ filled the car. He looked over at Bilbo, who blushed and said, ‘Angry Birds.’ It took Thorin ages to stop laughing, but Bilbo continued to play unimpeded and unabashed.

         “Can I make a confession?” Bilbo said, looking sheepishly up from his new phone just as Thorin parked in the building’s garage.

         Thorin smiled. Bilbo looked rather adorable. “Sure.”

         Bilbo bit his lip for a second then whispered loudly, “I love my phone.”

         Once again, Thorin couldn’t hold back his laughter; and it felt so good! “I think I got that! But, I’m still glad to hear it.”

         “I always thought a smartphone was unnecessary,” Bilbo said, getting out.

         “How could it be unnecessary?” Thorin couldn’t imagine going without his. He got out, closing his door and opening the boot with the fob. “It’s basically a small computer right in your hand.”

         Bilbo shrugged, taking one of the bags from Thorin. “I’m really _not_ a computer guy and I’d lived this long without, so ... why would I need one? At least, that’s what I thought.”

         “And now?” Thorin asked, pressing the button for the lift.

         Bilbo sighed. “I’m already thinking, how in the world I got by without it! I mean, I can get my email, send messages, play games, look up things on the Internet.” Bilbo looked so chuffed. “You can do nearly everything on this puppy!”

         Thorin felt elated and light; it was wonderful, joyous even, to have Bilbo in his life once again. It was truly a dream.

         _Every dream comes to an end._

         Thorin took a breath and ignored the voice.

         As they entered the flat, Thorin was once again thinking of setting Bilbo up and making him comfortable, while Bilbo had far more practical things on his mind.

         “So, do you have an office at home?” Bilbo asked. “Or do you just ... spread out on the dining room table?”

         “Um ...” Thorin thought quickly, but, “You know, I think the second guest room might be.”

         “You _think_ it _might be_?!” Bilbo asked, confused but clearly amused. “You don’t know?”

         “I remember a ... conversation ... with the decorators about it,” Thorin recalled a quick, hurried chat. “They asked whether I wanted one ... being a hot item in new homes and all that. But ...” Christ, Thorin couldn’t even remember looking at office furniture for the flat, nor could he remember the last time he’d actually been in that second guest room.

         “But ...”

         “Well, I just never ... did. I always stayed late to work.”

         “I see.”

         _Shit._ What if there was some dinky little desk – or worse, a bedroom set – then where the fuck would Bilbo work in private? The library would be nice but it was open to the living area and Thorin didn’t think it conducive to writing; nor would just sitting at the dining room table do in his opinion. There was the family room – it had a fireplace, and like the second bedroom, it opened onto the conservatory, but Thorin had put a couch and a big screen with a PlayStation for the boys back there. The large glassed conservatory / extra dining room was nice, but it was really too big and with a view of the river and the city beyond, it would probably prove as distracting as being in the library or dining room. No, the second guest room was a good size, it opened onto the conservatory and that meant Thorin could have plants and white wicker furniture placed out there so Bilbo could have a retreat when he was blocked or needed a peaceful place to think. But all that was meaningless as, Thorin reminded himself, _a desk_ was priority one.

         “You bought me a laptop,” Bilbo said, totally unaware of Thorin’s worries, “I can sit on the couch with a cuppa and work.”

         _Not if I have anything to fucking say about it_ , Thorin thought.

         As they came in, they placed everything on the table and both immediately went for the second guest room; it was worse than Thorin thought.

         The room was empty.

         “Son of a bitch,” Thorin growled out.

         Bilbo giggled and shrugged. “It’s no biggie! I’ll set up on the dining room table, like I said, and move when we eat.”

         “I’ll get a desk and chair,” Thorin said. “A bookcase for sure.”

         “No,” Bilbo said, waving the idea off. “You’ve done enough.”

         Thorn huffed out sigh. “I thought we’d share the room.” Thorin doubted he’d be in there much but still, it would be nice. “Maybe with one of those big desks that two people sit at ... on either side ... you know?”

         “A Partner’s Desk,” Bilbo supplied.

         _Partner’s Desk_. Thorin liked the sound of that. “That way ... we can both work without getting in each other’s way.”

         “That’s a lovely thought,” Bilbo said softly, but he wasn’t giving in. “But that would be true if you worked in here and I worked in the dining room, or the living ... or even the library. Besides, this room is far too small for such a big piece of furniture.”

         _Care to bet._ Thorin was determined.

         “Besides,” Bilbo said, as he turned to leave the room. “You’ve spent enough.”

         Thorin rolled his eyes. “It’s my ...” he stopped himself. He’d almost called it his flat; it wasn’t _his_ flat anymore, it was _their_ flat. That’s how he viewed it anyway.

         “It’s your what?”

         “Uhm ...” Thorin thought quickly, “... it’s ... my dream.”

         Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at that. “Your dream?”

         Thorin nodded. “To ... sometimes ... uhm ... work from home.”

         Bilbo turned that over. “I can understand the appeal ... as a work-at-home person myself.”

         “There you go.”

         But Bilbo wasn’t buying it. “Yes, but you just admitted earlier that you _don’t_ work from home.”

_Shit._

         Bilbo sighed. “Truly, sweetheart, you needn’t bother,” Bilbo said, shrugging. “I can easily work anywhere in the flat ... that’s the whole point of a laptop, isn’t it?”

         “But—”

         “Honestly,” Bilbo said as he left the room, throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t worry about it.”

         _Fine,_ Thorin thought as he smirked to himself and took out his phone; he knew Bilbo’s reluctance was merely about stupid money again. _Don’t want me to spend? That’s an easy thing to fix._ He scrolled quickly through his contacts, calling one of the few people he could depend on. It rang for only a minute before a young woman answered with a sweet, “Mister Durin’s office.”

         “Hello, Harriet,” Thorin said, softly; hoping it was loud enough for his secretary.

         “Mister Durin!” Harriet sounded both surprised and relieved. “How are you, sir?”

         “I’m well ... thank you. But I need you to do a few things for me.”

         “Of course! Anything.”

         “Good. Tell me, when my ... father,” Thorin hated saying that word, “had the offices redone a few years ago, what happened to the old office furniture?” Victorian and Edwardian-style furniture had been used throughout Durin and Sons; solid and steady, just as the Old Money clients liked. But with the upswing in Reality TV and overnight celebrities, shortly after Thorin had return from the war Thrain decided to update so as to cash in on the new, clueless ‘Nouveau Riche.’

         “Most pieces were used to redress the offices of middle managers and supervisors,” Harriet said, “but some things went into storage.”

         Thorin nodded, it was just as he hoped. “Is there an inventory sheet you can access?”

         “Yes, sir.”

         “Good. I want you to check it ... see if there is a Partner’s Desk, preferably with a matching bookcase, that isn’t being used or—”

         “I know for a fact there’s one here in the building that _sort of_ meets your criteria.”

         Thorin was please but a little concerned. “What do you mean by _sort of_?”

         “It’s not _exactly_ unused,” Harriet clarified. “The set was placed in an office that is reserved for clients ... when they need privacy for any reason ... so it’s rarely occupied. There are two large chairs with the desk, but there are also _two_ bookcases, not one. However, I can always find another use for the chairs and second—”

         “No. I’ll take both cases actually and chairs ... if they’re in good shape.”

         “I’ll look them over and, if they’re not, I’ll find you better ones.”

         Thorin was pleased. “Just ... look on the inventory and see if there’s an equally nice set that you can put in its place in the office.”

         “I’m sure there is, sir. Do you want the set moved to your office?”

         “No, I want them delivered _to my flat_ ... tomorrow. Ask the in-house maintenance team if a couple are willing to make the move ... offer them a healthy bonus for working on a Saturday.”

         “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

         “Thank you, Harriet.” Thorin was about to hang up when he remembered what else he needed. “Oh, and Harriet ... don’t tell _anyone_ ... and I mean, _no one_ ... that I called.”

         “Absolutely, sir.” Harriet got it. “And if anyone were to ask about changing the furniture?”

         Thorin thought about that for a second. “Tell them you’ve gotten complaints about ... _the condition of that office ..._ clients are unhappy or ... _uncomfortable_ in it, and that I’d told you a few weeks ago to have it redone and the old pieces taken away.”

         “Yes, sir.”

         Thorin hung up and smiled; he hadn’t spent a single penny.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         “You ...” Bilbo looked a little stunned. “You _lied_ to me.”

         Thorin sighed. “No, I didn’t.”

         “You said they weren’t using that office set!”

         “They weren’t ... not really ...”

         “Thorin!”

         “—so ... it wasn’t _a lie_ ... per se.”

         Bilbo only gaped at Thorin; clearly lost for words.

         “Look,” Thorin said, struggling to remain calm. “The furniture was extra ... taking up space in an office that was hardly used ... it wouldn’t have been any different had I moved something else that was already in storage!”

         “That does have a certain logic,” Gandalf said to Bilbo.

         “But—” Bilbo started out.

         “No,” Gandalf stopped him. “Frankly, it was rather convenient and cost nothing ... which was your concern, was it not?”

         “He paid the guys that brought it!” Bilbo pointed out.

         “It was a bonus, not payment!” Thorin growled out. “And besides, they worked on their day off, I wasn’t going to take their time for granted!”

         “Another excellent point,” Gandalf agreed.

         “Gandalf!” Bilbo huffed. “You aren’t supposed to take sides!”

         “I’m not taking sides,” Gandalf said. “There are no sides to take; you’re both right.”

         “We can’t _both_ be right,” Thorin stated.

         “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you,” Gandalf replied, before adding, “I often find that when couples fight, both sides have valid points; you did hide the full truth from Bilbo,” then turned to Bilbo, “But Thorin’s use of surplus furniture was practical and you can’t factor in the workmen’s bonuses as cost; one would tip a worker regardless of the cost of an item or service. Therefore, the furniture cost nothing.”

         Bilbo didn’t argue, but he did have an issue with something Gandalf said. “We’re not fighting,” Bilbo insisted then turned to Thorin with a worried look. “Are we?”

         “No!” Thorin said firmly, taking a deep breath and clearly his throat. “We’re ... discussing loudly.”

         Gandalf wasn’t buying that. “Discussing my foot! It’s a good thing I don’t have those foam-covered mallets laying about, or you two would be whacking each other with them without reserve!” Gandalf chuckled at his own joke.

         Bilbo rolled his eyes and shook his head.

         “Kind of sound like fun,” Thorin quipped. Bilbo did giggle at that.

         “Frankly,” Gandalf stated, “I am glad to see you two ... _fighting it out_ , so to speak.”

         “You are?” Both said in unison.

         Gandalf smiled at that. “Any couple that says, _‘We never fight’_ ... or argue, or ... whatever they want to call it ... is a pair I’d be rather suspicious of.” When both Bilbo and Thorin looked dubious at that, Gandalf continued. “Disagreements are good ... they get both sides talking. Whether it is a lovely, civil chat over a few cuppa, or whether it’s _‘discussing loudly’_ ... within reason of course ... communication is essential for any healthy relationship.”

         Both Bilbo and Thorin looked rather sheepish at Gandalf’s comment.

         “The problem with you both,” Gandalf said, “is this over-riding urge not to hurt the other, and worse ... to take all the hurt and blame for the past onto yourselves.”

         “You said I was to blame!” Bilbo insisted.

         “You told me the same!” Thorin pointed out.

         Gandalf shook his head, hoping to keep a headache from forming. “No I didn’t ... at the times I told you both that, you were blaming the other for what happened ... however, my point was that the blame could not be leveled on either one you _alone_ ; you both made choices ... while understandable in your frames of mind at the time ... that came to be seen as the poorer choice when examined in hindsight.”

         Bilbo and Thorin exchange a quick look with each other, but neither argued the statement.

         Gandalf turn to Thorin first. “Had you sought out Bilbo when you first got out of hospital ...” Gandalf then turned to Bilbo. “... or you had confronted him when you learned he was alive ... _at the very least,_ had you communicated opening with each other, your healing would’ve been, hopefully, in the past by now.”

         “So you _are_ saying it’s our fault,” Thorin demanded, while Bilbo nodded.

         “No,” Gandalf said. “What I am saying is that the true fault ... your father’s deception ... would have been discovered long ago and your healing would have been much easier for you both had you actually _talked_ to each other.”

         Once more, neither Bilbo nor Thorin contradicted Gandalf; it was quite true.

         “As cliché as it sounds,” Gandalf finished. “Honesty is the best policy ... especially when it comes to relationships.”

         Bilbo nodded. “I like to think Thorin and I are honest with each other.” However, he slid a glance towards Thorin. “Except maybe where _office furniture_ is concerned.”

         Gandalf nearly laughed at that, but Thorin didn’t laugh.

         “Oh ... honest with me, are you?” Thorin countered.

         “I’ve not lied to you!” Bilbo said, sounded offended.

         Thorin gave Bilbo a narrowed, pointed look. “I have two words for you ... _New ... York.”_

         Bilbo’s face paled and he looked to Gandalf, who did not hide his confusion, then back to Thorin. “How did you—”

         “I heard you on the phone.”

         Bilbo was gob-smacked. “ _You eavesdropped on a private conversation_?!”

         Thorin hesitated for a moment, before admitting, “Not on purpose.”

         “So that makes it okay?!”

         “You did break into his phone,” Gandalf pointed out to Bilbo.

         “That’s different!” Bilbo stressed.

         “I fail to see how,” Gandalf said.

         “I wasn’t doing it to snoop or ... spy on Thorin!”

         “From Thorin’s statement, it doesn’t sound like that was his goal either.”

         “But, his phone—”     

         “I don’t care about the damn phone!” Thorin said hotly. “That isn’t the issue here!” He turned to Bilbo, asking, “Were you ever going to be _honest_ with me about New York?”

         “Thorin—” Bilbo started but was cut-off.

         “I’m sorry,” Gandalf interrupted. “But I’m afraid I’m a little lost about this subject ... what does ‘New York’ mean?”

         “Bilbo gave up a dream for me,” Thorin said, bitterly.

         Bilbo huffed out a sigh. “It was _never_ my dream!”

         “So you told ... _Bard_!” Thorin spat out the editor’s name like a swear word. “And speaking of which ... were you ever going to tell me about him?”

         Bilbo looked he was getting angry. “If you listened to my conversation, as you said, then you know perfectly well then that there is nothing to tell!”

         Thorin looked hurt and pained but he said no more.

         But Gandalf did. “I think we should get back to where we left off ... with Friday night ... Bilbo, why don’t you start.”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         Bilbo was beside himself. Part of him still felt quite guilty; Thorin spent a huge amount and had treated him like a king!   But another part of him felt thrilled and giddy; which only added to the guilty side. He had the choice to put his foot down and say ‘No’, but Thorin’s face and his near-pleading to let him do this for Bilbo – saying that it was to make up for three years of missing gifts – was too much. Three years that they could have been together. Three years that Bilbo had totally wasted because he’d abandoned Thorin.

 _Shut up, Baggins and let Thorin have this!_ Bilbo reminded himself, again, that making Thorin happy was a top priority.    

         And really, Thorin had gone out of his way to buy things that he knew Bilbo totally loved! The kitchen appliances and the food were amazing! The clothes were perfection! Not to mention all the electronics; if anyone had told him, he’d fall ‘in love’ with a mobile, Bilbo would have called them insane.

         “Well,” Thorin said, coming into the living area and rubbing his hands together. “Are you ready to play with your toys?”

         Bilbo looked up startled, because, like in the car, at that moment, his phone gave out a loud _‘SCREECH.’_ Thorin looked perplexed but amused and Bilbo felt his ears grow warm.

         “Temple Run,” Bilbo said, quietly as he put his new phone away.

         Thorin laughed, but it once again warmed Bilbo’s heart to hear it. “I’m glad the phone’s a hit.”

         Bilbo nodded and got up off the couch just as Thorin started taking white boxes out of the Apple Bags. Two MacBook Pros, an external disc drive, headphones – one pair in white for Bilbo and another in black for Thorin. There was also a wireless mouse for Bilbo to use; Thorin guessed that Bilbo might not like to use the touch pad built into the laptop, and Thorin was right!

         Thorin let Bilbo open all the boxes and Bilbo was stunned at the smooth, clean look and feel of the pieces. What was really amazing was that the laptop only needed to be turned on and that was it! It automatically picked up the wireless mouse, and with a few clicks, Bilbo was attached to Thorin’s Wi-Fi.

         “Well?” Thorin asked, amused at Bilbo who just sat there, wide-eyed, staring at the computer.

         “I’m almost afraid to touch it,” Bilbo said, as he tentatively reach out and moved the mouse around on the slick dining room table. “It’s so ... pretty.”

         But touch it he did. Once Thorin had downloaded and installed Office For Mac onto Bilbo’s computer, he then went about downloading Bilbo’s files which was a laughable moment. They had realized that when they stopped at Bilbo’s flat, they had forgotten to get his computer files. Bilbo suggested going back over himself and Thorin suggested that he use iCloud in the future. Bilbo asked if it was easy, and Thorin stated that it was, no harder than uploading a file onto an email.

         “Oh, good,” Bilbo said, sounding relieved. “I can do that at least. I attach files all the time.

         Thorin paused. “Wait, then ... are you saying you sent your current works to someone via email?”

         Bilbo nodded. “To my editor.”

         Thorin laugh and hung his head. “Babe, we just need to download them.”

         “What do you mean, ‘ _download them?_ ’” Bilbo was shocked. “From where?!”

         They brought up Bilbo’s Gmail account and checked his send box. There they were, attached to an email, [bard.bowman@houseproudmag.com](mailto:bard.bowman@houseproudmag.com). Bilbo turned red.

         “Now I just feel silly,” Bilbo said with a sigh.

         Thorin planted a quick kiss on Bilbo’s temple; he thought it the whole thing was cute. “Clearly not a computer guy.”

         “No.” Bilbo shook his head. “Computers are great for making writing easier but I’m lucky to know how to send email and research things on the web.”

         “I can get in contact with the guy from The Apple Store. He said he’d be glad to help.”

         Bilbo’s face went oddly blank. “You mean your little friend ... _Brian_?”

         _Oh my, God!_ Thorin couldn’t help but smirk. “Are you jealous?!”

         Bilbo’s blank expression didn’t change but his cheeks turned a deep pink. “No.”

         Thorin had to chuckle; Bilbo was too fucking cute. Thorin planted another kiss, this time on Bilbo’s forehead. “He’s young enough to be my son and he’s straight ... with a girlfriend!”

         Bilbo just shrugged, saying tersely, “He was awfully ... _smiley,_ with you.”

         Thorin could barely stand it; Bilbo jealous was his new favorite thing! He turned Bilbo’s face upward and gave his love a deep kiss. “He got a big fat commission for all the things I bought and graciously listened to me ramble on about you the entire time.”

         Bilbo turned beet red; his expression turning sheepish. “Well ... that was gracious of him.”

         Thorin decided to move on. “Can you use those files? Or are they too far out-of-date.”

         Bilbo shrugged. “I have made changes since I sent them, but nothing I’m sure I can’t redo.” He scrolled over them quickly. “In fact, I think this works out better ... I’m not liking how I worded things here.” Bilbo instantly started typing, working over what was on the screen.

         “Are you hungry?” Thorin asked after watching Bilbo for several long minutes.

         “Hmmm,” Bilbo hummed, clearly not listening fully.

         Thorin smiled at that. “Maybe I should snag the next-door neighbor’s poodle and cook that up?”

         Bilbo nodded, saying flatly, “Yeah, okay ... sounds good.” Bilbo was lost in his own world.

         Thorin laughed but went to the kitchen. _There has to be something I can make._ Thorin internally thanked his friend, Collins, from Waitrose; there was plenty here, far more than had ever been in the flat. In the end, Thorin made pasta; it wasn’t fancy, Lord knows Thorin wasn’t a cook, but he wasn’t one to starve either. He sure as hell wasn’t about to let Bilbo go hungry.

         In a relatively short time, Thorin was done.

         “Here we go,” Thorin said, carrying two large bowls into the dining room and setting them at the opposite end from Bilbo. “Dinner is served.”

         Bilbo looked up surprised. “Dinner?”

         “Well, that’s what one usually calls the evening meal.”

         Bilbo looked at Thorin, his eyes widening. “Did you ... _make_ that?!”

         Thorin smirked. “I’m a total dead loss in the kitchen.”

         “Since when?” Bilbo said, standing up. “You keep telling me you can’t cook!”

         “I said I _don’t_ cook. There’s a difference.” Thorin went to get the utensils, Bilbo hot on his tail.

         “Well ... how nice!” Bilbo said, going to the fridge and getting out a couple of beers.

         “It’s only pasta,” Thorin pointed out. “And with a jar sauce and some meat thrown in, so it’s far from posh.”

         “You made dinner for us!” Bilbo smiled as they went back to the table. “I think that’s brilliant!”

         “You haven’t tasted it yet,” Thorin quipped.

         But Bilbo had no complaints. Thorin had to admit that it felt nice, felt _right_ , to cook for Bilbo. _Maybe this is what drives Bilbo to always want to cook for me?_ Thorin wondered; he had this warm, comfortable feeling in his chest that came from making something that brought pleasure to the one you love.

         _He’s only being nice to you._

         Thorin smiled, ignoring his inner demon, and focused on Bilbo talking of what he’d been writing.

_How long do you think you can keep him happy?_

         Thorin nodded and hoped Bilbo didn’t see his doubts.

_He’ll leave you. It’s only a matter of time before he gets bored with you._

“Thorin?”

         “What?” Thorin startled and realized he’d zoned out for a minute.

         “I asked how long I was writing.”

         “Oh ... uhm ...” Thorin looked at his watch. “About ... an hour or so.”

         Bilbo shook his head. “I’m sorry. I got caught up and lost all track of time.”

         “I don’t mind.” Thorin didn’t. Not really. “I’m glad the laptop is working out for you.”

         “Oh my, God!” Bilbo said, smiling. “I love it!”

         That was good enough for Thorin.

         The night progressed as the afternoon had. After a quick cleaning up, Bilbo made them cups of tea and he got right back to work. Thorin got out his laptop and readied it for work. He installed the few apps he needed, bought himself Office-For-Mac and accessed his work emails, answering those that could not wait until he was actually back in the office or forwarding those that needed answers from others; Balin, Oin, and a couple to Gloin and Gimli. He avoiding sending any to Dis or Dwalin; he didn’t want questions as to how he and/or Bilbo were doing.

         At one point, Thorin looked over and smiled; Bilbo was typing away like mad – Thorin was amazed at Bilbo’s speed as his fingers flew over the keyboard. Bilbo was concentrating and Thorin could just glimpse the tip of Bilbo’s tongue sticking out between his lips; it was adorable in Thorin’s eyes.

         Suddenly, he was filled with a lightness that he hadn’t felt in years. Even from across the room, even with Bilbo metres away and not even looking at him, Thorin felt as if Bilbo was right there, next to him, touching him. And Thorin realized that the feeling was the same blissful feeling he’d felt when they were in Brighton all those years ago; that feeling of home, of warmth, of comfort, and of belonging. It was the feeling that had begun on that fateful train ride, when they had met, when in the middle of their conversation, as Bilbo laughed and charmed him, when Bilbo smiled and eclipsed the rest of the world, it was that feeling that he and Bilbo belonged together, and to each other.

         Oh how he had missed the quiet tidal wave that was Bilbo Baggins, washing away all the pain and making his life worth living.

         _You’re deluding yourself._

         Thorin closed his eyes against the voice.

         _You never did have the brains to face the truth._

         _Breathe,_ Thorin told himself, _just breathe._ Thorin slowly breathed in and out.

         _How many times must I remind you, that you are nothing, but unworthy?_

         Thorin swallowed but the voice could not be shut out.

         _It would have been so much better for everyone if you had just died._

         _No. We’re meant for each other._

         _Keep telling yourself that._

         _It’s the truth._

_There are none so foolish as those in denial._

_Thorin_

_Go away._

_Thorin_

_GO AWAY!_

         “I’m sorry?!”

         Thorin startled awake. “What?”

         Bilbo sighed. “You were mumbling in your sleep.” He was standing next to the couch, one hand on Thorin’s shoulder, the other on Thorin’s laptop that looked as if about to fall to the floor.

         “Sorry.” Thorin closed his computer and sat up, placing the laptop on the coffee table.

         “You should be in bed,” Bilbo said, gently pulling on Thorin’s arm and getting him to stand. “We both should be ... it’s late.”

         “What time is it?” He didn’t remember falling asleep.

         “Almost eleven-forty,” Bilbo said, taking Thorin’s hand and leading them towards the bedroom.

         Thorin nodded in reply.       

         Despite being a bit foggy from his impromptu nap on the sofa, Thorin was still clear enough to get ready for bed. They snuggled up and while Bilbo was out in a minute, Thorin laid there, the London skyline filling the room with ambient light. He needed to get that voice under control! Maybe he needed his meds adjusted? Or maybe he needed new ones? Should he take the alprazolam around the clock instead of as needed? No, that would just make him a zombie and frankly, he loathed depending on the medication to begin with, why take more? Besides, upping his medication felt like a step backwards, not forward. And he did feel he was moving forward.

         Should he speak to Grey about it? Probably. 

         Would he? Probably not.

         No. He could handle it. He _would_ handle it!

         His mind on the other hand, was a different story. When he finally drifted off to sleep, he dreamt.  

 

         _The streets of London were empty; scrapes of paper, discarded coffee cups, old newspapers, all manner of debris, fluttered about with the slow blowing wind. Cars littered the roadways as if their occupants had simply got out and left them where they were idling._

_Every building was dark. Cafes stood open and gaping, banks were great vaults of darkness, while businesses stood waiting for no one. Department store windows held the only ‘signs’ of life; mannequins dressed in clothes that were sagging, falling off or had already fallen to form pools of fabric around the feet of the human imposters. Some mannequins had toppled and lay like so many pale, soulless corpses._

_“Hello!” Thorin called._

_Silence._

_“HELLO!” Thorin shouted._

_Hello … hello … hello … hello; only his echo replied._

_Overhead, the clouds were low and grey, blocking the light so that it was impossible to tell time of day or from where the light originated._

_It was through the great standing grave-markers of buildings that Thorin heard something other than the wind; the movement of water nearby. He followed the sound through the grey-shadowed alleys and deserted streets until he found himself standing on the banks of The Thames. Tower Bridge stood frozen, the drawbridge drawn up high as if awaiting a ship heading out to sea. Only there was no ship._

_But there were vessels on the water. Several small boats were adrift upon the river; each turning at its own rhythm in the current; like dancers to a silent tune. All that was, except for the HMS Belfast; the once proud battle cruiser had broken from its moorings and had sunk by the stern—its bow pointed skyward, useless—in the middle of The Thames, listing to one side in the process. The dead hulk of the iron behemoth omitted an occasional groan as the ship swayed slightly with the ebb and flow of the river._

_The world was nothing but grey upon grey; lifeless and empty._

_Empty except for Thorin._

_“HELLO!” Thorin screamed but, again, only the faint echo from across the river responded back to him._

_Until he heard a whisper on the wind._

_… thorin …_

_Thorin stilled and strained to hear._

_Nothing._

_But he knew that voice._

_“BILBO!”_

_… thorin …_

_“BILBO!”_

_… … …_

_He turned, and found he was standing in the middle of Victoria Station. Unlike the city, it was nearly pitch dark, empty—cavernous. The only illuminations were a few dusty shafts of ill-looking light streaming from the broken glass roof above._

_“BILBO!”_

_Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo—Thorin’s echo shouted back at him._

_There was nothing and no one here._

_No, that was not true._

_Up ahead, far along the deserted platforms, there walked a lone person, back to Thorin, about to board a train, the last train._

_Someone with honey-blond hair._

_Thorin could only stare as Bilbo stepped onto the train, then turned to cast a last, furtive gaze in Thorin’s direction._

_“NO! WAIT!”_

_Thorin was running but the distance would not close—in fact it seemed to stretch, further and further away, further into the future._

_“BILBO, COME BACK!”_

_The train began to move, wheels grinding on the tracks, and there, in the window of the last car stood Bilbo, his eyes sad, mouth downturned, hand raised in a gesture of good-bye._

_“STOP!”_

_Thorin tried to run, even as the train pulled out of the station, but he got no closer._

_“DON’T GO!”_

_He stumbled, unable to get up and looked down to see that his pant leg was empty, his leg was gone; he would never catch the train now— even if he wanted to._

_“BILBO!”_

         Thorin sat up with a gasp, gulping huge breaths of air to fill his lungs. It was almost three in the morning and Bilbo was curled up, sleeping, on the far side of the bed from Thorin.

         There was no point in pretending; Thorin was not going back to sleep. As the night before, he got up without disturbing Bilbo and moved to the living room. Retrieving his laptop from the coffee table, he placed it on the dining room table, turned it on, went and made coffee and something to eat and came back.

         If he wasn’t going to sleep he may as well work.

        

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo------

 

**_SATURDAY_ **

****

         Bilbo woke and knew he was alone before he even opened his eyes. He had reached out and found the bed beside him empty, the sheets cold to his touch. He sat up and saw that the pillow was crumpled and the covers thrown back; Thorin had risen from the bed and not even bothered to put things back in place.

         Bilbo was many things, but he wasn’t normally clueless. Thorin had clearly had another nightmare and left the bedroom. Bilbo also knew that Thorin had no desire to wake Bilbo when he left.

         That made three nights in a row that Thorin had nightmares. For a moment Bilbo wondered if it was him; was he the cause? But then Thorin had told him he’d had them off and on, and Wednesday had been particularly bad for Thorin; finding out your father had betrayed you could not be easy for anyone, let alone someone already hurt and suffering.

 _Should I speak to him?_ Bilbo thought. _Get him to open up about them?_ Thorin had said he could remember them, but that didn’t mean they didn’t make him feel things. Maybe if Bilbo asked the right questions, prodded a bit more—

         No. No, prodding.      

         _Maybe I could get Andy to talk to Thorin._ Bilbo liked that idea. But then he immediately rejected the idea. Ori had mentioned to Bilbo that Thorin was already seeing a therapist, and while Bilbo thought Andy was the best in the world, Thorin could easily afford to hire the best therapist money could buy; surely the man was already on this. Bilbo shouldn’t go sticking his nose in where only professionals needed to tread.

         Sighing, Bilbo reminded himself that his goal was to make Thorin feel happy and safe, to feel wanted and loved, to make sure Thorin’s environment was comfortable and calm. Peaceful. The last thing Thorin needed was for Bilbo to corner him and push and hound him over things that he was already seeing someone for.

         With a quick breath in and a cheerful smile on his face, Bilbo dressed and went to find Thorin. And he found him exactly where he suspected; sitting at the dining room table, laptop open, dirty plate and empty coffee mug nearby and the newspaper open to the financial page.

         “Good morning!” Bilbo said brightly, giving Thorin a quick kiss the cheek.

         “Morning.” Thorin reached out and pulled Bilbo to him, returning Bilbo’s kiss with a deep one of his own.

         “My,” Bilbo was a little breathless when he pulled back. “Talk about good morning!” Bilbo didn’t even begrudge Thorin his smug little smile. “Are you hungry?” he asked as he reached for Thorin’s used plate and mug.

         “I, uhm ... just finished,” Thorin said quickly.

         Just finished my foot, Bilbo thought. The mug and plate were stone cold; they’d been sitting there for some time. But he didn’t press the issue. “I’m going to make a proper breakfast, if you would like some?”

         Thorin smile again and shrugged. “I’d never say no to your cooking.”

         “Wise man,” Bilbo quipped and with another quick kiss, took the dishes into the kitchen.

         Within a few long minutes, Bilbo had eggs beaten, sausages heating, pastries in the oven, veggies cut and ready for cooking and the kettle going for tea; a nice, normal breakfast. Bilbo felt so relaxed and content. He felt like he truly belonged here; it felt natural and right.

         “What are your plans for the day?” Thorin asked quietly while standing in the kitchen doorway, watching Bilbo move about.

         Bilbo thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I hadn’t made any in particular.” He turned a quick look over his shoulder to Thorin. “Do you have something you want to do?”

         Thorin shook his head. “Not ... exactly.”

         However, Bilbo paused. “Not _exactly_?” He was a little curious. “Do you _need_ to do something?”

         “I don’t need to do anything.”

         Bilbo gave Thorin a narrowed look. “What are you saying?”

         Thorin apparently was working very hard to hide his smirk. “I’m not saying anything.”

         “That’s my point,” Bilbo said and saw Thorin’s smirk grow a little. “What are you up to?”

         “Nothing,” Thorin insisted but his eyes got a little wider.

         Thorin was lying and Bilbo could tell. “Then what are you _hiding_?”

         Thorin laughed at that. “What makes you think I’m hiding something?”

         Bilbo wasn’t about to be put off. “Because, it’s written all over your face, you prat!” Thorin continued to laugh. “Tell me what you’re up to!”

         Thorin shrugged, putting a very innocent look on his face, but smiling nonetheless. “I haven’t a clue what you mean.”

         Bilbo huffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

         Almost instantly, Bilbo was encompassed in Thorn’s arms.

         “Don’t be mad, please,” Thorin whispered in Bilbo’s ear.

         The thrill of Thorin so close and the ghost of Thorin’s lips on his ear had Bilbo shivering. “I’m not mad.” He wasn’t. Honestly.

         “You’ll like it.” Thorin nuzzled Bilbo’s ear.

         “Don’t tease,” Bilbo said, closing his eyes and relishing Thorin’s touch. “Either tell me or leave it.”

         Thorin turned Bilbo around and kissed him, deeply, passionately and Bilbo nearly melted into the embrace.   Until a loud knock on the front door startled him.

         “Here we go,” Thorin teased and moved out of the kitchen.

         “Go?” Bilbo demanded and was about to follow until a loud sizzle told him the sausages were burning. “Where are we going?!” Bilbo called out but then remembered the croissants in the oven and took them out just as he heard Thorin’s voice talking to someone else; he couldn’t hear what they were saying though. Bilbo made sure everything was okay and then hurried after Thorin. He found him in the hallway, leading a couple of young men – one blond and clean-shaven, the other ginger with a trim beard – both wearing dark blue coveralls with what appeared to be the Durin and Son’s Logo, into the flat.

         “Right this way, gentlemen,” Thorin said, passing Bilbo and giving him a wink.

         “What’s happening?” Bilbo was totally confused. Both of the young men gave Bilbo a quick nod of greeting as they followed Thorin, leaving Bilbo’s only option but to follow.

         Thorin led them to the second spare room. “What do you think?” Thorin asked the young men.

         “I’m not sure, Mister Durin,” the blond said. “They’re pretty hefty pieces ... I doubt you’d get everything in here.” The guy took out a tape measure, gave the end to his companion and they started measuring.   “In fact ... I’m sure they won’t fit.”

         “ _What_ won’t fit?” Bilbo demanded.

         “I have an alternative space,” Thorin stated and led them to the family room. “How about in here?”

         The ginger guy nodded. “Much better. And we could move the couch and electronics to the room we were just in, then fit the rest here. If you’d like.”

         The blond agreed. “That would be best.”

         “ _What_ would be best?!” Bilbo didn’t like being out of the loop.

         The two young men got to work disconnecting the TV and the game console, while Thorin gave Bilbo a quick kiss on the cheek, saying, “It’s your surprise.”

         “Surprise? I have a surprise?!” Bilbo was that. “What surprise? What is it?!”

         Thorin chuckled. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

         “But ...” Thorin gently guided Bilbo away, even as he stuttered, “... but ...”

         Bilbo did go back to his breakfast but the suspense was killing him! He tried to eat slowly but his mind wouldn’t quiet. Without conscious thought, he drummed his fingers on the table and kept looking over his shoulder, waiting for the workers to return. Worst of all, Thorin just sat at the table, reading the paper, not answering any of Bilbo’s questions and not even bothering to hide his smirky-smile; he was perfectly aware that Bilbo was being eaten alive with curiosity. Bilbo could hear the guys moving the couch – out through the conservatory and then into the second guest room – and rehanging the flat screen, and hooking up the game console.        

         After about an hour or so, the young men came into the dining room. “We’re heading down now to get the first piece,” the blond said.

         Thorin nodded his acknowledgement but offered nothing else.

         “Will you _now_ tell me what it is?!” Bilbo demanded when Thorin continued to sit there quietly.

         “You’ll see soon enough,” Thorin commented, turning the paper over to read the last page.

         Bilbo growled out of frustration. “If you are trying to drive me insane ... _Thorin Michael Durin_ ... you are doing a very good job!”

         Thorin smiled. “Oh, dear ... I must be in trouble. You used my full name!”

         Bilbo shot Thorin a narrowed look to show he wasn’t amused.

         But Thorin was. “You’re adorable when you’re cheesed off.”

         The sound of something heavy, and large, was heard and Bilbo didn’t waste time standing there; he ran for the front door.

         “A bookcase?” Bilbo asked softly. It was huge; had to be at least two metres, if not a bit more, and very ornate with heavy, crown molding and pilaster with capitals on either side, all stained a dark mahogany.

         “This is the first one,” the blond guy said.

         “ _‘The first one?’_ ” Bilbo parroted. “How many are there?!”

         “Two,” the ginger said as he passed by.

         Bilbo gaped at Thorin who just smiled.   “You bought me two bookcases?”

         Thorin shook his head. “No. I didn’t buy you two bookcases.” Then followed the two movers, not explaining anything to a very confused Bilbo.        

         It was decided to place the bookcases on either side of the fireplace; framing it.

         “They look nice,” Bilbo said, standing back and admiring both cases when the second was finally in place. They nearly touched the ceiling, but did look very handsome flanking the hearth. “But ...”

         “But, what?” Thorin asked, sounding slightly apprehensive.

         “I like them!” Bilbo said, quickly making it clear that he truly did. “It’s just ... the style doesn’t really go with ... you know ... the rest of the flat.”

         Thorin relaxed. “True. But the whole place doesn’t have to match.”

         Bilbo nodded agreement. The fireplace surround was minimalist in style like the rest of the flat; no mantel and very simple marble around it. However, Bilbo kept that to himself. If he knew Thorin, one mention of it and he’d have a carpenter in there in a heartbeat!

         The young men returned to with two large, high-back office chairs; beautifully upholstered in tufted, hunter green leather. It was clear they were well used, but they were in excellent shape and frankly, Bilbo felt that the ‘aging’ added a nice touch; they looked comfortable and homey.

         “ _Two_ chairs?” Bilbo asked. He had a feeling what was coming up next.

         Thorin nodded.

         “Where did all this come from?” Bilbo asked. He and Thorin had been together the entire time the last few days.

         “The office,” Thorin finally conceded. “They were stored and unused, so I called my secretary and had them delivered here.”

         “Oh,” Bilbo couldn’t argue with that. “And the company doesn’t mind that you just ... took them home?”

         Thorin looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. “Bilbo ... it’s family owned ... I _am_ the company.”

         Again, Bilbo couldn’t argue with that.

         Sure enough, as Bilbo suspected, the next item was a gigantic partner’s desk; it barely made it down the hall. In fact, the guys had to remove the door to the family room in order to get it in. It was set up so that it extended off the opposite wall from the fireplace.   Thorin bid the young guys good-bye while Bilbo set about dusting and cleaning up the new office set; not that it needed much. He moved the chairs in place and stood back; it was really a nice space now! There was still enough space on the far side of the room to put a cozy chair and pouf.

         “Do you like it?” Thorin asked, standing in the doorway and watching Bilbo, sitting on what had obviously become his side, run his hands over the polished surface. The top was so wide!

         “I love it!” Bilbo really did. He would gladly admit that having Thorin seated right across from him was a very appealing idea.

         In a few minutes they had moved their laptops and things from the dining room table. Each side had pull out work surfaces; Thorin had his pulled out and used it to place his coffee mug, while Bilbo decided he’d use his for a pad, so he could reference his notes for whatever he was working on. With the gas fire turned on, the whole place had a cozy feel. Thorin even had music playing.

         Bilbo was content. He would glance up now and then and stealthily watch Thorin absorbed in his work, scribbling on a note pad, glancing over the newspaper now and then, then focusing back at his laptop. He wondered if Thorin would put an extension of the landline on the desk, or simply use his cell phone.

         That’s when Thorin’s cell phone went off.

         “Yes,” Thorin said, the second the phone was to his ear. He nodded. “Excellent. Send them up, Whitcomb.”

         “Who’s here?” Bilbo asked.

         “Not who,” Thorin said. “What. It’s the delivery from Liberty.”

         Five minutes later, Bilbo was standing within the smaller of the two master bedroom closets, hanging up his new clothes. “You’re sure you don’t mind?” Bilbo asked, as Thorin moved his clothes out.

         “Of course not,” Thorin insisted. “These are just my ... _mess about_ clothes.”

         Bilbo sighed; not many people he knew would consider older Valentino, Ralph Lauren, Saint Laurent, or Alexander McQueen as ‘mess about clothes.’

         “I really should go through these,” Thorin continued. “Get rid of some.”

         Bilbo giggled at that.

         “What’s so funny?” Thorin asked, amused.

         Bilbo shook his head. “I was reminded of that one Ab Fab episode where Eddie complained that Saffy had given away her old clothes to charity and she was still scarred after being assaulted by a down and out mess drinker wearing a Westwood cat suit and Channel suede boots!”

         They both laughed at that, but Thorin released a huge yawn.

         “Ok, that’s it,” Bilbo said in mock seriousness, hanging up the last of his things. “Someone obviously needs sleep.”

         “I’m fine,” Thorin said.

         “Don’t argue with me, mister,” Bilbo stated, “You’re going to lay down.”

         Thorin smiled as Bilbo led him towards the bed. “Are you putting your foot down?”

         “If you have to ask the question,” Bilbo answered dryly and Thorin laughed again. Bilbo gestured for Thorin to sit on the edge of the bed. “You rest,” Bilbo asserted. “I’ll go ... write or something, and when you wake up, we’ll make dinner and enjoy an evening in.”

         “We’ve only had evenings in,” Thorin said, giving up and making himself comfortable.

         “Don’t argue,” Bilbo said playfully, giving Thorin a kiss. “Sweet dreams.”

         “Thank you.”

         Thorin rolled to one side and Bilbo covered him with the blanket folded at the foot of the bed. As he tiptoed out, he hoped Thorin did have sweet dreams. He went back to the family room/new office and sat there, staring into the fire but not really seeing it, his mind racing. Thorin had done so much for him, taken care of him, in just the last few days alone. It was staggering. And it felt, natural, normal, and peaceful to be together. Oh sure, Bilbo felt a little uneasy at the amount of money Thorin had spent on him, but he didn’t need to be told that Thorin did it out of love.

         Bilbo sighed. A decision had to be made.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         Thorin couldn’t nap. He had every intention of attempting to catch up on his sleep, which had now been disturbed for three nights in a row. But try as he might, he couldn’t will himself into slumber. He feared his dreams would most likely follow him, even in the daytime, and nullify any catnap he managed to snag.

         So instead, he laid there, eyes closed, considering his options. He could probably take more medication. Grey had offered a sleep medication, but Thorin hadn’t needed it much at the time, and besides, he hated how his current meds made him feel, so why take more? He could try drink; enough alcohol often rendered him dreamless, or at least to a state where he didn't remember any dream when he woke. But that was no good either; he’d decided that he wouldn’t do that anymore; not around Bilbo. Part of him shouted to at least tell Grey about them. But, Grey knew, he didn’t need to tell the man. Granted he hadn’t had the dreams this intense, this often, this unsettling before, but he was positive they would settle. Why bother Grey with what he already knew?

         No. He’d deal with his dreams on his own. They’d go away. Eventually. He was almost sure of it.

         As for napping, in the end, he chose to simply relax and rest. That was the best he could hope for. Thorin rolled over and pulled a pillow to him; it wasn’t Bilbo but at least he could pretend. And it did help to imagine Bilbo next to him in bed, warm and comforting; it truly was reassuring.

         It must have worked because Thorin had no idea how much time had passed; he was just aware that it had. Odd really. Maybe he should get up? He felt a tiny bit better, if not wholly so.    

         He remembered something about Bilbo wanting to have dinner when Thorin woke. Maybe he wants an early one? Thorin smiled at that. Early dinner and then watch a movie, or at the very least snuggle on the couch reading? He liked that idea a lot.           

         He cracked an eye open to see the time, when he noticed the indicator on the phone light up; Bilbo was using the landline. _Why wasn’t Bilbo using his cell phone?_ Then he saw Bilbo’s cell phone laying next to the clock. Thorin rarely used his landline; it was just there for guests to use and as an excuse not to give his mobile number to his parents! Most likely Bilbo was calling to order take-out somewhere and wanted to be sneaky so that Thorin couldn’t pay. _Clever boy._ _But not clever enough_ , Thorin mused to himself; he’d just pick up the phone and tease Bilbo.

         It sounded like good idea. However, what he heard was nothing he expected.

         “—not calling to accept.” Thorin heard Bilbo say.

         _What the hell is he suppose to ‘accept.’_ However there was silence on the other end of the line.      

         “Bard?”

         Still more silence on the other end. Bard. _Who was Bard?_ Thorin wondered _, why does that name sound so familiar?_ It felt important but he couldn’t place the name with anything in particular. Bilbo’s voice broke Thorin’s train of thought.

         “Bard, are you still there?”

         “Sorry, but I’m just trying to process what you said, because it fucking sounded like—”

         “I’m turning the offer down. I’m not going to New York.”

_What?_

——-ooooo——-

 

         Bilbo had come to a conclusion and the decision was made. It was the right one, he knew it, but he still dreaded it a bit. Not the decision itself, mind you, only in it’s execution. With Thorin lying down, it was as good a time as any; it was perfect actually.

         Bilbo got up and looked for his phone but couldn’t find it. _Where the hell did I put it?_ It didn’t matter. Remembering the landline, he went to retrieve the headset.

         He sat on the couch and readied himself. With a deep breath, he dialed the number and a moment later Bard answered.

         “Bard Bowman.”

         “Hello, Bard.”

         “Hey there, handsome!” Bard teased in greeting.

         There was a momentary twinge of unease; Bilbo was in Thorin’s home, basically not but a few feet from Thorin himself, and it felt … _wrong_ , for Bard to speak to him like that, even though they were friends and he’d called him that often.

         “Where are you calling from?” Bard asked. “I don’t recognize the number.”

         Bilbo ignored the question and chose to just dive in. “I’m calling about New York.”

         “Let me guess, you want to know the perks!” Bard quipped. “Want to know if you get a flat thrown in as well?” Bard laughed. “Believe me, there are plenty of bonuses with this job!”

         “I’m sure.”

         “So ... when are you wanting to leave?”

         “Well …” Bilbo said slowly, “that’s why I’m calling.”

         “You’re going to _love_ New York,” Bard stated cheerfully.

         “Bard,” Bilbo said firmly. “I’m not calling to accept.”

         Bilbo statement was answered with silence.

         “Bard?”

         Still more silence.

         Bilbo wondered it he had lost the connection. “Bard, are you still there?”

         “Sorry,” Bard said; his voice tight, “but I’m just trying to process what you said, because it fucking sounded like—”

         “I’m turning the offer down. I’m not going to New York.”

         There was another pause before Bard exploded. “Are you _fucking mental_?!”

         “Bard, I have—”

         “Do you know how many strings I pulled to get this offer for you?”

         “I didn’t know, but—”

         “I put my arse on the line!”

         “Bard, if you’d just—”

         “I’m not saying I want you to go, mind you, you know I don’t, but I’m not so selfish as to hold you back!”

         “And I appreciate that, but Bard, I have—”

         “And this kind of opportunity doesn’t come along every day, you know!”

         “I know, but—”

         “You turn this down, and the powers-that-be might not offer it again!”

         “I understand that.”

         “Are you turning down the serial as well?!”

         “No! Of course not! That has nothing to do with my decision about—”

         “Then what the fuck—”

         “WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME?!” Effectively silencing Bard, Bilbo took a deep breath before continuing calmly. “I fully appreciate what you are saying, and I realize that the directorship may be a once in a lifetime offer ... but I have always said, and will state again, that all I’ve ever wanted was to be a writer!” Bilbo took another calming breath. “With that said, I want a life too, and I—”

         “You’ve met someone,” Bard interjected softly.

         Granted, it was technically inaccurate, but close enough and Bilbo wouldn’t deny it. “Yes.”

         “I see,” Bard said slowly, his tone turning hard. “I get it … you’ve met someone and now you’re putting a hot cock and good piece of arse above everything else!”

         Bilbo knew why Bard was really upset, and normally he’d try and soothe Bard’s hurt, but his anger rouse too quickly for that. “Sod you, Bard!”

         “You just did that!”

         “Oh really?! How is this about you?”

         “What more could I have done—”

         “I never led you on! Not once, not ever!”

         There was protracted silence before Bard said, “No.” sounding reluctant to admit it. “No, you haven’t”

         “I realize that to someone like yourself, who put his career first—”

         “That’s unfair!”

         “—that this all may sound cliché—”

         “Try ridiculous!”

         “— _but_ ,” Bilbo ignored Bard’s comment, “I am not willing to put work above my happiness … or my ... family.” Could he call Thorin that? Yes. Thorin was far beyond that actually. “What I’ve got is irreplaceable, and—”

         Bard huffed out a laugh. “Irreplaceable.” Bilbo could hear what he thought was the clink of ice in a glass; Bard taking a hefty swig of something strong. “Wow … I wish I knew how _that_ felt.”

         Bilbo felt both guilt and irritation in equal measures. Bard had never hid his affection for Bilbo, nor left in doubt his desire to explore more between them. But, while Bilbo never wanted to hurt Bard — he truly liked and cared for the man; loved him as someone dear to him — Bilbo had always made it clear that he could not love Bard; not like that. Not like he loved Thorin.

         “I’m sorry.” What else could Bilbo said?

         “Don’t be,” Bard said, a little too cold for Bilbo’s liking.

         While Bilbo knew it was a blow to Bard, that didn’t mean it was right to make Bilbo the villain in this, nor had Bilbo done anything wrong; he could push back if he needed to. “Look … if you want me to resign, just say—.”

         “Don’t be an idiot,” Bard said. “It doesn’t suit you.”

         “If you wish, I can leave for another magazine ... I’m positive _The Advocate_ will be willing to publish me.”

         “Bilbo ...”

         “All I’m saying is—”

         “I know what you’re saying, Bilbo. I get it.”

 _Good._ Bilbo didn’t want to be a knob, but fuck it.

Once more the silence stretched before Bard asked quietly, “Answer me one question.”

         “Of course.”

         “Does this … this _guy_ …” Bard paused and Bilbo had the idea that Bard was trying hard to remain calm. “Does he make you happy?”

Bilbo knew what Bard truly meant; did Thorin make Bilbo happier than Bard had tried so hard to do? “Yes,” Bilbo replied softly. “He makes me very happy.” Even if Bilbo had to endure the flames of Hell, he would count himself lucky to have Thorin.

         “Well, then,” Bard finished and, to Bilbo, he sounded defeated. “That’s all I need to know.”

         “I’m sorry, Bard.”

         “I … I truly wish you all the best … both of you.”

         “Thank you.”

         Bard cleared his throat and turned all business. “And I _will_ be expecting that first draft of that serial from you _soon_.”

         “Absolutely,” Bilbo said before teasing, dryly, “Just as soon as I come up with a good plot.”

         Bard huffed out another laugh. It wasn’t his usually jovial chuckle, but it wasn’t fake or hollow. “Take care …” Bard paused again. “My friend.”

         The way he said ‘friend’ hurt Bilbo a little, but there was nothing for it. “And you as well, Bard.”

         Ringing off, Bilbo couldn’t remember feeling so many mixed feelings at the same time in his life. He was comfortable with his decision, glad the conversation was over and done with, and positive he’d made the right choice. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling of remorse and guilt, despite also feeling he’d done nothing wrong; he’d never wanted to hurt Bard. Ultimately though, Bilbo was _satisfied._ He had a feeling that the outcome was always going to be this way.

         Bilbo hadn’t lied about being just a writer either. Whether he lived in the mountains of Nepal, the jungles of Borneo, or a hole in the ground, he’d still have his imagination and nothing could stop him from writing; putting his life, his family, his love, first, above any job, had little impact on his ability to write. Were he to be asked to choose a thousand times, he would choose Thorin over and over and—

         “Bilbo.”

         Bilbo spun around and found Thorin standing there.

 

——-ooooo——-

 

         Thorin had listened to the entire conversation. He knew he shouldn’t have but he couldn’t help himself.   

         He caught enough snippets to piece the story together; _offer, New York, I’m turning the offer down, directorship_. Bilbo had been offered a proper promotion, in New York, with the magazine. Thorin also heard the other side of the coin; _this kind of opportunity doesn’t come along every day, isn’t likely to offer it again._ But even more, Thorin realized that Bilbo was doing this for him; _you’ve met someone, yes,_ _you’re placing them above everything else, ridiculous._  

         Yes it was ridiculous, because Thorin understood that Bilbo was throwing away — _sacrificing_ — his future for Thorin.

         “Bilbo.” He hadn’t meant to startle his love.

         Bilbo spun around, but gave Thorin one of those heart-stopping, brilliant smiles. “Awake already? You weren’t out for long; did you sleep at all?”

         Thorin returned Bilbo’s smile with a small one of his own. “I dozed off and on.”

         “Did it help?”

         Bilbo was so achingly concerned; it tore at Thorin’s heart. “Yes. I feel better.”

         “Oh, good.” Bilbo stood up from the couch. “Are you hungry?”

         “Umm ...” Thorin couldn’t decide.

         “I bet you will be when I’m done,” Bilbo stated, heading to the kitchen.

         “I’d be happy to take you out,” Thorin said.

         But Bilbo laughed. “You didn’t buy all that food just to let it go to waste!”

         “No, but ...” Thorin would gladly make sure Bilbo never had to work at anything again, if only Bilbo would let him.

         “I want to,” Bilbo said that the kitchen door. “I like doing things for you.”

         _Yes, like ruining your life._      

         Thorin’s emotions were running the gambit; from bitter guilt, to happiness Bilbo was staying here, to anger at himself for being weak, to being touched that Bilbo would place him above all else. But he was mostly disgusted. Disgusted in that he would remain silent, that he wouldn’t fight it, that he would let Bilbo do it, because unlike Bard - _I’m not so selfish as to hold you back_ – Thorin was more than selfish to want Bilbo close, to keep him near, to always have him.

         There was only one thing to do in return.

 

——-ooooo——-

 

         Bilbo was beside himself. “Is that why you resigned?!”

         “I didn’t resign,” Thorin corrected. “I took a leave! And yes!”  

         Thorin clearly thought that made it all right, but Bilbo didn’t. “But I never wanted you to give up what you love for me?!”

         “I couldn’t let you sacrifice your future, and then not—”

         “I didn’t sacrifice _anything_ , though!”

         “You did! You forfeited your chance—”

         “There was nothing to forfeit, or sacrifice!” Bilbo insisted. “It was only ever an offer; it wasn’t my life’s ambition … nor even something I aspired to … not like what you have at Durin and Sons!”

         “That’s just a job!” Thorin pointed out. “I can do that anywhere; another company, on my own, _from home, even_! But you gave up an opportunity—”

         “Listen to me,” Bilbo reached down and began opening his saddlebag. “I hadn’t made a decision and –” Bilbo pulled out his note pad. “— look at this.” He thrust the pad into Thorin’s lap. “I was working on it when we met at the cafe; I was making a list of pros and cons if I took the offer. As you can see, leaving you and Ori behind were high on the list of cons!”

         Thorin stared down at the list before him, but had a far different response that Bilbo hoped for.

         “In other words,” Thorin looked disgusted, “right from the start, I was ruining your chances—”

         “Jesus Christ!” Bilbo was losing it. “Why do you think it’s acceptable for you to give up your life for me, but I can’t do the same for you?!”

         “It’s completely different,” Thorin asserted, “and you know it!”

         “How is it different?!”

         “BECAUSE I’VE ALREADY DESTROYED ENOUGH OF YOUR LIFE!”

         Bilbo was speechless.

         “I couldn't stand by and let you give up—”

         “If I may interrupt,” Gandalf said, silencing Thorin. “Neither of you asked the other to give-up _anything_. You each made a decision that you thought best, if I’m listening correctly. While your reasons maybe misplaced, the sentiment was sincere on both parts. Why not accept that you both have given each other a gift and move on from there?”

         “A gift?!” Bilbo was aghast. “Thorin left his job—”

         “He took a _leave of absence_ ,” Gandalf corrected. “He didn’t quit.”

         Bilbo looked like he wanted to argue the point.

         “And Thorin,” Gandalf said quickly before, before Bilbo could interrupt. “As Bilbo said, he was _offered_ the position; it was not set in stone and it didn’t change his life to decline.”

         “No?” Thorin was not buying it. “It altered his life; it closed that door forever!”

         “You don’t know that!” Bilbo countered.

         “I heard what Bard said!”

         “Bard said that the board _might not_ offer it again!” Bilbo snapped. “ _Might not_ being key words! But at the same time, _they might_!”

         “There are many factors,” Gandalf interjected gracefully, “that come into play when someone declines, or accepts, an advancement.”

         “But he declined it for me!”

         “He _declined it_ for your relationship,” Gandalf said pointedly. “That means _for you both._ Or, do you want him to move to The States?”

         “No, but—”

         “It was either go or stay,” Gandalf threw out. “There was no third option. And he is still a writer and still working for the magazine.”

         “And what if he gives that up for me too?!”

         “Then that will be his decision!” Gandalf said pointedly.

         Thorin backed down, but didn’t look pleased.

         “Now,” Gandalf stated firmly. “Let us move on.”

        

——-ooooo——-

 

         As always, dinner was wonderful. Bilbo was reluctant to have Thorin help him. Thorin wanted to, offering to cut up veggies or the meat or fetch whatever Bilbo needed. But Bilbo knew where everything was now, more so than Thorin; who had no clue at this point. Besides, Bilbo joked that if he gave Thorin a sharp knife they’d probably end up at hospital with Thorin getting a finger sewn back on or something. Thorin was mockingly indignant to that statement but laughed none-the-less. In the end, Thorin sat at the kitchen island, lovingly listening to Bilbo natter on, and thinking of how he was going to redo the kitchen just for Bilbo.

         Afterwards, when everything was cleaned, the night turned out just as Thorin had hoped. They sat on the small couch, now stationed in the second guestroom, some movie playing in the background that neither was really watching, Bilbo reading a small book of poetry, sometimes aloud to Thorin.

         It was near perfect; until the landline rang.

         “Leave it,” Thorin said; he hated the intrusion.

         “Don’t be a prat,” Bilbo said teasing, picking up the headset off the floor and handing it to Thorin.

         “That’s just it,” Thorin insisted. “I don’t _want_ to answer it.”

         Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Bilbo pressed the button and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

         Thorin sighed. He really didn’t want to share Bilbo.

         But Bilbo got a funny look on his face. “Yes ... this is Bilbo.”

         _Who the hell would ask if it’s Bilbo?_

         Bilbo nodded. “Yes.”

         _‘Who is it?’_ Thorn mouthed.

         At that same moment Bilbo sat up straight and stiff. “Yes, of course.” A second later, he was up and walking out of the room.

         Naturally, Thorin was up like a shot and followed him. Bilbo walked to the living room, saying _‘Yes’_ and _‘Of course’_ a few times as he walked, but who ever it was on the other end was doing most of the talking. Bilbo ended up slowly pacing back and forth in front of the glass wall overlooking the Thames. He’d nod now and then, and ‘hmm-um’ a reply but it was clear that he was resigned to just listening.

         “Yes ... I know,” Bilbo said as he finally took a seat on the couch.

         ‘Who the hell is it?’ Thorin whispered, but Bilbo waved him off.

         “No ... no, not at all.”

         It was maddening and Thorin was tempted just to ask loudly who it was; to hell with the niceties.

         “We don’t think that.”

         _Think what?!_

“I can understand that ... but honestly ... I don’t blame you, and I’m sure Thorin doesn’t either.”

         “Blame _who_ for _what_?!” Thorin ground out through clenched teeth; he was starting to get pissed.

         Bilbo held up a finger – ‘one second’ – but only nodded. “Look ... I have a suggestion ... why don’t the three of us get together sometime this week or next weekend and have lunch, or dinner ... or just chat ... and let’s get it behind us. Okay?”

         Thorin started pacing. He breathed in and out trying to remain calm but it was barely working.

         “Right,” Bilbo said, standing up. “I’ll let Thorin know and ... thank you for calling. We’ll see you this week. Bye.” Bilbo rang off and released a heavy sigh.

         “Who the fuck was that?” Thorin asked.

         Bilbo held Thorin gaze for a moment, his look unreadable, but then said softly, “It was your friend ... Liddy.”

         _Liddy. Shit._ Thorin should’ve called her before now, but he’d been a bit preoccupied the last few days to say the least. “What did she say?” He thought he knew.

         Bilbo was quiet again, clearly unhappy with what passed between he and Liddy. “She ... she blames herself for what happened between us.”

         Thorin knew it. “It isn’t her fault.”

         “You know that. And I know that ... at least, I know it now. But she feels because your father—”

         “My father.” Thorin almost spat.

         “—implicated her as ... your wife ... in his lies, that she’s become part of it.”

         “That’s crazy! She had no way of knowing!”

         “I know,” Bilbo said firmly. “But she sounds like a good person.”

         “She is.”

         “So unfortunately... good people, when caught up in bad situations, have the moral conscience to feel that they are responsible simply by association.”

         Thorin breathed out a sigh; Bilbo was right. “I hate it.”

         “That’s why I suggested we get together ... the three of us ... put it behind us. We can show we are okay and that we are moving forward.”

         Were they though? Thorin wasn’t; he couldn’t deny it anymore. Thorin’s nights were filled with nightmares that weren’t getting better and when he wasn’t sleeping, the voice in his head was always there, all the time, just on the edge of his mind, mocking him. It was like having his father’s poisonous presence on one shoulder, whispering in one ear, but without the counterbalance of goodness whispering in the other. Granted, he had Bilbo there and that helped, but Bilbo was not aware of the darkness that was pulling Thorin down; nor would Bilbo know if Thorin had his way. Therefore, Bilbo could only barely protect Thorin from his demons.

         “Sweetheart?”

         Thorin shook himself. “What?”

         “Are you all right?” Bilbo stepped closer. “You seemed a million miles away just then.”

         _Fuck. I’ve got to stop letting my mind wander._ “I’m ... fine.” Thorin smiled with the lie.

         Bilbo nodded, smiling slyly “You know what we need? We should, uhm ... go to bed _early_.”

         “Sure.” Whatever Bilbo wanted at that moment Thorin would give him. “I could use sleep.”

         Bilbo slipped his arms around Thorin’s waist and purred, “Well ... I don’t mean _just_ for sleeping.”

         But not that. “Babe, I’m ... I’m tired and ...”

         Bilbo still smiled, but disappointment was in his tone. “It’s okay, sweetie. I ... I understand.”

         _I doubt it._ “I’m sorry.”

         “It’s fine. Really.”

         _No it isn’t. It’ll never be fixed._

\-----ooooo-----

 

         “Hmmmm” Gandalf scribed on his pad, now covered in notes and lines.

         “What?” Bilbo asked. Thorin remained silent.

         “It’s ... interesting.” Gandalf didn’t look up as he flipped up the page and began writing.

         “I don’t understa—”

         “Thorin’s reluctance for ... intimacy.”

         Bilbo just huffed out a laugh. “He was tired! There is nothing complex here!”

         Thorin scowled but remained silent.

         Gandalf, however, didn’t “What is truly interesting his insistence that it isn’t fine—”

         “He felt badly, I’m sure!”

         “—coupled with his doubts and his use of the term _‘fixed.’_ Especially that it will _never_ be fixed. What won’t be fixed?”

         “That’s why he sees you,” Bilbo snarked. “Isn’t it?”

         Gandalf returned Bilbo’s jab with a cocked eyebrow. “Yes. When he’s honest and open with me.”

         “He’s not lying, I’m sure!”

         “He’s keeping something from me. From us both, actually.”

         Thorin still stayed silent but his scowl deepened and he would not meet either Gandalf or Bilbo’s look. He was obviously uncomfortable.

         “I should have seen it before,” Gandalf said, adding almost under his breath, “It’s starting to make a great deal of sense.”

         “What is?” Bilbo asked.

         Gandalf ignored Bilbo’s question, but stated, “And you aren’t helping in any way, my dear Bilbo.”

         “Lay off him!” Thorin spat out, finally turning to glare at Gandalf.

         However, Gandalf was not put off. “Keeping him in the dark and yet having him ignore the issues aren’t really the best options, Thorin. You know that; somewhere inside you, you know it. You doubt him when he says things are ‘okay’ and ‘fine’; you’ve said as much.”

         Neither Bilbo or Thorin said anything; Bilbo looked miserable and Thorin’s anger was building.

         _He’s going to explode_ , Gandalf calculated. _I can’t say that’s a bad thing._ Gandalf cleared his throat. “Now, if I’m following correctly, we only have Sunday left.”      

         Bilbo nodded. Thorin didn’t even look at Gandalf.

         “What did you do on Sunday?”

         “We slept in a bit,” Bilbo said.

         “You mean you did,” Gandalf stated. “Because I’m sure Thorin was up early with yet again more nightmares. Am I correct?”

         Thorin crossed his arms, sinking back a bit into the couch and growled out, “Yes.”

         “And Bilbo still believed you couldn’t remember them.”

         Bilbo’s cheeks turned a deep pink, but quietly agreed, “I did.”

         Gandalf nodded and made a few more notes. “So ... Bilbo slept in a bit late, you two had pleasant, polite conversation for your morning greeting, Bilbo made breakfast ... which for Thorin was his second breakfast of the day ... Correct?” When either answered, Gandalf felt safe to assume that he’d gotten it all right. “Then, after cleaning up, you both went to work on your respective laptops in the new office space ... Bilbo writing, Thorin checking minor things but mostly just watching and keeping himself ready in case Bilbo so much as sneezed so that he could correct the situation.”

         “Is there a fucking _point_ to this?” Thorin groused.

         “Isn’t it obvious?” Gandalf asked in reply.

         “He’s trying to say we’re in a rut,” Bilbo said with an annoyed sigh.

         “Not a rut,” Gandalf corrected, “But a holding pattern of complete avoidance.”

         “I won’t say—”

         “It’s true, my dear Bilbo.” Gandalf took a breath and sighed. “I can only assume that you didn’t go anywhere or see anyone?”

         “No,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “Thorin’s young nephew called, that was about it.”

         “And no reason for me to waste money betting that Thorin didn’t speak to him, because I’m sure that Thorin had no desire to be in contact with the outside world.”

         Thorin didn’t reply, only hugged himself tighter and he glared furiously at the floor.

         “I am curious, though,” Gandalf said, “What finally triggered you two to put two and two together and call me?”

         Bilbo looked uncomfortable, glancing down at his wrists and then at Thorin. Thorin’s expressed morphed from angry to pensive, almost painful, very quickly.

         “What did happen?” Gandalf insisted.

         “It was me,” Thorin said quietly. “I was ... I kept thinking about Liddy’s call and what it meant.”

         Gandalf understood. “Or rather, what it caused.”

         Bilbo now avoided looking anywhere but his lap and Thorin, gave Gandalf a nod.

 

——oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

**_SUNDAY EVENING_ **

        

         It had been a lovely day. Quiet and relaxing; for the most part. Yet, try as he might, Thorin couldn’t stop thinking about Liddy’s phone call. He’d dreamed the night before that she had met Bilbo and out of nowhere, pulled a dagger and plunged it into his heart repeatedly. Someone else may have found that funny, but Thorin didn’t. Not after all that had transpired.

         He didn’t blame Liddy; not at all. But the dream had only succeeded in reminding him that Bilbo had been so close, just across the street, right there and Thorin had missed him! If only he’d looked up, turned around, done something, then events wouldn’t have transpired they way they did. Thorin would have found out the truth, Thrain would have been exposed and his lies would have unraveled.

         Bilbo wouldn’t have been pushed to take his life.

         And it always came back to that for Thorin; how close he’d come to losing Bilbo completely, totally. How his father’s desire to be rid of Bilbo would have been fulfilled in the most sickening and absolute way. Thorin had hurt thinking Bilbo didn’t want him, but there had always been a part of him, buried deep, that took comfort, no matter unstated, knowing Bilbo was still in the world. The idea that Bilbo might have died and forever been beyond Thorin’s reach made him ill.

         And it was Thorin’s fault. He’d been the blind one, the selfish one, the one who had been so self-absorbed that he couldn’t even see what was going on around him; he’d even believed his father of all people!

         They were making dinner when Thorin could stand it no more.

         “Bilbo,” Thorin said softly.

         “Hmm?” Bilbo was focused on the cooking.

         Thorin took a deep breath and asked what had been there all day. “Did they hurt?”

         Bilbo stirred another pot. “Did who hurt?” He was only giving half his attention.

         Thorin reached out and slowly took one of Bilbo’s wrists, pulling it to him and stilling the shorter man. Turning Bilbo’s arm over gently, he delicately ran a thumb over the diagonal scars.   Pale now, blending with the surrounding skin so well that they were ghostly images. But as the old saying went, _‘still waters run deep’_ ; Thorin wondered just how deep these scar went. “Did you feel pain?”

         Bilbo stood there, lost of words for several long moments before finally taking both of Thorin’s hands in his own.

         “Thorin, it doesn’t mat—”

         “Tell me.”

         Bilbo sighed, resigned. “To tell you the truth,” Bilbo said quietly, slowly, “I don’t remember.”

         Thorin wondered how much hurt did it take for someone not to remember their own suicide.

         “I was in a right state,” Bilbo stated, unknowing of Thorin’s thoughts. “I mean, I felt nothing … numb really … all over … and by the time I … I didn’t even realize what I’d done until I arrived at hospital.”

         Thorin tightened his grip on Bilbo’s wrists tighten almost to the point of painfully,   wishing the scars to just go away. Of course, they never would.

         “Sweetheart,” Bilbo said, firmly but gently. “It’s long past; don’t dwell on it … I don’t. And I don’t blame you, or anyone really, but it’s done with and I’m okay. It’s over now.”

         Thorin looked at the scars again; they seemed more pronounced. Once again, that voice bubbled up in him. _They’ll never go away._ Thorin couldn’t drown out his father’s laughter. _So close. You came so close to losing him. Just imagine never having the chance to say you were sorry, or hearing him say he forgives you. Never hearing him tell you he loved you, ever again._

         But Thorin felt that ‘sorry’ wouldn’t have changed anything; Thorin had still hurt Bilbo in the most terrible and heartless way someone could and Thorin would never be able to change that.

“Thorin.”

         He didn’t trust his voice but he looked at Bilbo and waited.

         “Please let it go.”

         _Never._ “It’s hard.”

         Bilbo took a breath and released it slowly. “Look, maybe you should talk to someone about it. I know you’re seeing someone—”

         “Who told you, that? Dis?!”

         Bilbo shook his head. “Ori, actually.”

         _Fucking Dwalin and his mouth._ “Great.” Although, even Thorin would’ve been hard pressed to think no one could figure it out, let alone Bilbo with his sharp and clever mind.

         “Maybe you should ... chat with your doctor. Let them help you get past it and maybe talk to him about all these dreams you’re having.”

         Thorin laughed. “Yeah, sure. I doubt he’d do much other than give me riddles and have me try and figure it out.”

         Bilbo laughed. “Mine was that way! So annoying but he was good and it worked.”

         “I didn’t know you saw someone?” But as soon as the words left Thorin’s mouth, he knew they were stupid; of course Bilbo would have had to see someone.

         Bilbo nodded. “Andy’s ... eccentric, but he’s the best. I could ask him if he’d be willing to see you.”

         Thorin smiled. “I doubt he’d want to take me on. Besides, with what I pay for sessions, I’m supposed to already have the best! Grey isn’t cheap let me tell you.”

         Bilbo looked stunned.

         “What?”

         “Grey?!”

         “Yeah.”

         “Doctor Gandalf Grey?!”

         “You’ve heard of him?”

         Bilbo started laughing, practically bending in half.

         “What’s so funny about Grey?”

         “Gandalf!” Bilbo said, finally calming to giggles. “Gand ... as in A N D ... as in Andy!”

         Thorin caught on. “Grey is your shrink?!”

         Bilbo nodded. “Talk about small world!”

         “GOD DAMMIT!” Thorin was stomped out of the kitchen, going right for his phone.

         “Thorin?!” Bilbo rushed after him but it was too late.

         Thorin had already dialed the number.

         “Good evening, Thorin.”

         “AND JUST WHEN THE FUCK WERE YOU GOING TO TELL US?!”  

         “I’m guessing it’s safe to assume you and Bilbo have had a chat?”

         “I’M NOT AMUSED!”

         “That’s a shame. I am.”

         “You fucking old coot!”

         Gandalf just laughed again.

         “You could’ve said something!”

         “No I couldn’t!” Gandalf turned stern. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my patients with others and you damn well know that!”

         Thorin growled out a sigh. He did know that. But still. “It’s us! What harm would it have done?!”         

         “Possibly a great deal,” Gandalf countered. “Why do you think I pushed you both to chat with me _together_? It would have been revealed at that point and we could have moved forward. However, you two clearly jumped the gun.”

         “We’re not going to feel guilty for that!”

         “Nor should you. But do not attempt to make me the villain because I was duty bound to remain silent.”

         Thorin hated agreeing. “No.”

         “May I also assume, that I now have your permission to converse with Bilbo and discuss your situation?”

         “He’s right next to me actually.”

         “How charming! May I speak with him?”

         Gandalf’s amusement was grating, but Thorin didn’t say a word, simply held out the phone for Bilbo to take; which he did.

         Bilbo cleared his throat. “Hello, Andy.”

         “Hello, my boy, how are you getting on?”

         “Okay.”

         “Okay? Just ... okay?”

         “Uhm, sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

         “Why indeed.” Andy was quiet for few long moments.

         “Funny that we were both seeing you at the same time.”

         “Funny isn’t necessarily the word I’d use.”

         “Interesting?”

         “I’d prefer ... serendipitous.”

         Bilbo giggled and cleared his throat again but said nothing.

         “Why don’t you two come see me tomorrow?”       

         “Tomorrow?”    

         “Yes, Bilbo, tomorrow,” Gandalf said, adding dryly. “You know, the day that follows today.”

         Bilbo rolled his eyes, but quipped, “I thought tomorrow was the day that never comes.”

         “Maybe a day of reckoning.”

         “ _Reckoning?!”_

         “Did I say _‘reckoning?’_ I meant ... reconnecting.”

         Bilbo laughed again but it sounded a bit off.

         “I will see you both tomorrow.”

         “But, I don’t know if Thorin has pla—”

         “Twelve-thirty would be lovely.”

         “But—”

         “Good night, Bilbo.”

         “But—”

         “Give my best to Thorin.” And just like that, Gandalf rang off.

         Bilbo stared at the phone in his hand as if it were a foreign object, before looking at Thorin and shrugging. “We’re seeing Andy tomorrow after lunch.”

         “Perfect,” Thorin said; he was less than thrilled. He was planning on speaking with his uncle in the morning and tell him he was taking a leave of absence. _That’s all right. I doubt the meeting with Fundin will be very long._

 

——oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_MONDAY_ **

 

         “Short meeting indeed,” Gandalf said. “This all brings us to today.” Bilbo nodded and Thorin said nothing, but leveled Gandalf a heated look. There was no way around upsetting Thorin, but then Gandalf wasn’t afraid to do that either. “And I think I have enough now.”

         “Enough of what?” Bilbo asked.

         “Notes,” Gandalf said, lifting another page on his pad. He’d taken four pages and it was a legal size notepad. “It’s all becoming quite clear to me.”

         “All of what?” Thorin growled out.

         “The issue at hand,” Gandalf said, giving Thorin a hard, level look to match his. “Or dare I say ... _issues_ ... because there are far more than one and you both need to be taken a bit to task.”

         “What fuck does that mean?!”

         “Me?!”

         Gandalf ignored Thorin for the moment and gave Bilbo pointed look. “Yes you, my dear boy. Your avoidance of Thorin’s problems is not helping. He can’t move past if you are unwilling to push the problem!”

         Bilbo sighed. “Yes, so you’ve said.”

         Gandalf shook his head. “But it goes beyond that.”

         “Leave him alone!” Thorin growled out. “He’s only trying to make it better!”

         “No one is arguing that point, Thorin!” Gandalf insisted. “But I am seeing a much more troubling pattern here.” Gandalf turned back to Bilbo. “You seem to be slipping back into your old M.O. of living life as if the abnormal is normal and blithely going about your day as if there isn’t a thing wrong.”

         “That’s ... that’s not true.” But Bilbo didn’t sound too convinced though at his own words.

         “You may not be conscious of your actions,” Gandalf pointed out, “But I fear you are taking the first few dangerous steps towards a relapse.” Bilbo looked horrified at Gandalf’s assessment. “And that would be grave to say the least.”

         “Get off his back!” Thorin barked out. Gandalf ignored him.

         But Bilbo was still beside himself, shaking his head. “That wasn’t my intention. I only thought by providing a steady, relaxing environment, so that things would settle and—”

         “But isn’t that what Thorin’s mother tried to do?” Gandalf pointed out quietly.

         Bilbo closed his eyes against the thought. “Oh, God ... I hadn’t thought—”

         “It’s nothing like that!” Thorin snapped.

         “It’s exactly like it,” Gandalf said. “And it’s basically what Bilbo did for years to cope with the abuse done onto him by his aunt and uncle; live life as if the abnormal is normal and just keep moving, keep avoiding ... keep calm and carry on ... very British ... very proper and well-mannered ... all the while totally ignoring the festering wounds until they become too much for the mind to handle ... pushing the person to desperate acts to deal with the pain. Like suicide.”

         “Leave him alone!” Thorin snarled.

         “I will not!” Gandalf bit back. “Despite how noble you think it is, you both hold this ill notion that any problem of yours will only burden the other! Neither of you will dare think to upset the other one out of some misplaced sense of protection and fear!” When Thorin looked as if he’d protest, Gandalf pushed ahead. “YES FEAR! Especially you, Thorin!”

         “That’s not how it is!” Bilbo protested, but Thorin said nothing.

         “It is exactly how it is,” Gandalf countered. “Fear is the driving force behind all of Thorin’s motives! Fear of appearing weak, fear of losing you, fear of being abandoned, fear of being unloved, unwanted, or worse ... unneeded! And under all that is the one fear he has yet to confess because he believes that is the one thing that will fulfill all the other fears!”

         “What are you talking about?” Bilbo looked at Thorin but he avoided Bilbo’s eyes.

         “I should have worked this out long ago,” Gandalf said, almost to himself. “It certainly makes your former ‘hatred’ for Bilbo a clearer to understand.”

         “Don’t say that!” Thorin growled through gritted teeth.

         “How long has it been going on, Thorin?” Gandalf asked quietly.

         Thorin didn’t reply.

         “You know I know,” Gandalf stated. “There’s little point in hiding now.”

         “What is it?” Bilbo asked again but was ignored.

         “When did you first notice?” Gandalf asked.

         Thorin stilled didn’t answer.

         “Since you returned? Since the hospital?”

         Thorin shook his head, before whispering, reluctantly, “I ... I don’t remember exactly when it started.”

         Gandalf nodded, accepting the answer. “When did you first become aware then?”

         “A couple of years ago,” Thorin said, glaring at the floor. “Off and on.”

         “Off and on,” Gandalf repeated, nodding. “That would make sense. But ... it became regular about ...”

         Thorin sighed, closing his eyes, embarrassed. “About two months ago.”

         “Yes ... of course,” Gandalf said, smiling then sighing. “That’s good news.”

         “Good news?!” Thorin spat, sending a burning look at Gandalf. “ _Good_?! How _the fuck_ is any of this _fucking good_!”

         “Because I now know the reason.”

         “Reason for _what_?” Bilbo asked.

         Thorin didn’t answer, but Gandalf did, in his way. “Don’t you find it ... interesting, Bilbo, that you two shared something almost immediately the moment you met; something overwhelming and, to use Thorin’a and your own words, something destined and completing. From the moment you met, you were drawn together and that first night of yours, you brought it full circle. And yet, in the last five days, there has been nothing close to it.”

         Bilbo huffed out a sigh. “What are you going on about?”

         “Sex,” Thorin ground out. “He’s talking about sex!” Thorin launched himself off the couch and stood feet away from Bilbo.

         “According to your stories,” Gandalf continued, “you two couldn’t keep yourself from touching, from loving, from coupling as it were at nearly every chance you had. And yet ... now ... after you are finally together again and truth will out, there has been nothing.”

         “Well ...” Bilbo stated, “Thorin’s still dealing with his father’s betrayal and his nightmares and now to find out these voices, so it’s no wonder—”

         “No, Bilbo,” Gandalf said. “In medical terms, Thorin is suffering from—”

         “I CAN’T FUCKING GET IT UP, ALL RIGHT!”

         “—sexual dysfunction.”

         Bilbo was blinked at his surprise but he recovered quickly. “That doesn’t matter, Thorin!”

         It was the wrong thing to say.

         “THE FUCK IT DOESN’T!” Thorin yelled, stalking the room. “You’re not a fucking freak!”

         “You’re not a freak, Thorin,” Gandalf said. “And I’m convinced it’s not even your body.”

         “What the fuck does that mean?!”

         “I’m convinced it’s your medication. Many, if not most, anti-depressants have sexual dysfunction side-affects. I have you on Paxil which is well known for that very issue.”

         Thorin continued to pace, clearly not caring what the cause was.

         “And the fact that this poisonous voice you hear is getting stronger, not better, tells me that the Paxil isn’t working.”

         “Great, just fucking great!” Thorin snapped. “A fucking limp dick and mental!   It just keeps getting FUCKING BETTER!”

         Bilbo tried but failed again. “Thorin it’s okay—”

         “IT’S NOT FUCKING OKAY!”

         “It’s not, Bilbo,” Gandalf said. “And you have to comfortable with saying that it’s not. If Thorin isn’t allowed to express his feelings, even the negative one, he’ll never get passed it.”

         “What’s to get passed?! I’m a fucking mental cripple as well as a physical one!”

         “Don’t say that word, Thorin!”

         “I AM!! I AM A FUCKING CRIPPLE, BILBO! I’M NOTHING!”

         “I’m sorry, Thorin,” Gandalf said, shaking his head. “I’ve always known there was more to your story. I even doubted my initial assessment and believed that your issues weren’t PTSD. But I was wrong. The voices, the self-doubt, the low self-esteem, the anger and the masks you wear ... all indicate PTSD, but not from the war or the loss of Bilbo or even your injuries and scars ... but from the long, protracted bullying and degradation and abuse done to you by your father.”

         “I’m nothing,” Thorin repeated low.

         “You’re not to me!” Bilbo insisted, full of hurt.

         Thorin turned to face Bilbo, beating on his own chest. “I wanted to be your hero!”

         “But you always were!”

         “Were!” Thorin parroted with a sneer. “Past Tense!”

         “No!” Bilbo sounded lost now. “That’s not what I meant!”

         “BUT IT’S TRUE!” Thorin shouted. “WAS! WERE! HAS BEEN! USED TO BE! USELESS! I’M NOTHING BUT A FUCKING USELESS CRIPPLE!” With a great bellowing roar, Thorin balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it into the nearest wall.

         “Oh my God, Thorin!” Bilbo was shocked.

         But Thorin’s rage was just boiling over. “I AM FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF ALL THIS! I ... I ... WANT ...”

         Bilbo was going to say more, but Gandalf threw up a hand and stopped him. “What, Thorin?! What is it you want?! Tell me!”

         Thorin snarled like wild boar, heaving great breaths. “I WANT THIS TO BE OVER WITH!   I WANT TO BE DONE WITH FUCKING MEDICATIONS AND NIGHTMARES AND MY FATHER’S FUCKING VOICE IN MY HEAD! I WANT TO BE NORMAL! I WANT TO BE FREE! I WANT TO BE THE MAN BILBO FELL IN LOVE WITH! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I WANT TO BE ME AGAIN!”

         Thorin continued to heave but his anger seemed spent. Bilbo quickly ran from the room.

         But Gandalf just laughed.

         “There’s nothing funny in this, old man!” Thorin yelled.

         “You’re right,” Gandalf said, a huge grin on his face. “It’s not funny, it’s wonderful!”

         “I fail to see what’s so wonderful,” Bilbo said, coming back with a small bag of ice he’d gotten from the office kitchen.

         “That’s what I’d like to know!” Thorin demanded, letting Bilbo examine his hand and place the bag of ice on it.

         Gandalf just continued to smile broadly. “Congratulations, Thorin! You’ve just taken your first step to recovery!”

         Thorin looked confused. “What?”

         But Bilbo, groaned and hung his head. “Oh my God.”

         “What?!” Thorin insisted.

         Bilbo sighed. “It took me months to figure it out and all the while putting up with one riddle after another.”

         “What do you mean?!”

         “I told your sister months ago,” Gandalf said. “There was no way to help you unless you wanted to be helped.”

         “And the first step,” Bilbo added, as if reading from a cue card, “Is to admit to yourself that you want to be helped.”

         Thorin looked from Gandalf to Bilbo and then back before hollering, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

         Gandalf just smirked and shook his head.

         “You couldn’t have said something before now?!” Thorin barked. “A hint, maybe! A clue!”

         “That’s not the point,” Bilbo said, with a weary sigh. “You have to do it yourself.”

         “And few have done it with such style!” Gandalf stated with a laugh. “Well done!”

         Thorin took a deep breath and released it. It didn’t feel bad at all.

         “So tell me, Thorin,” Gandalf said, softly and seriously. “What do you want?”

         Thorin opened his mouth, a ready quip on his tongue, the urge to tell the old man off was right there, but it was like a light went off and he go it. “I ... I want to be ...” He really got it. “I want to be me again.”

         Gandalf’s smile returned but it was soft and comforting. “Then I will be more than happy to help you get there.” Then he turned all business. “First things first; I’m going to take you off the Paxil and try you on Wellbutrin. I’ll write out a tapering schedule ... you can’t come off it cold turkey. Wellbutrin as little to no sexual side-affects, so once you’re off the Paxil, your ... intimacy issues should resolve. Also, no more of these once a week, when you feel it, appointments ... you are going to see me three times a week, is that clear?”

         Thorin nodded. He got that too.

         “As for you, Bilbo,” Gandalf added, “I want to start seeing you once a week again, routinely.”

         Bilbo nodded. “Of course.”

         “I won’t risk you having a relapse.”

         “Right.”

         “And starting next week,” Gandalf finished, “I want to see you both, together, once a week for couples counseling. Nothing heavy, but I think that it would be a good idea for while, as we get things moving in the correct direction. No charge; that’s my gift to you.”

         “You don’t have to do that,” Thorin said. “I can pay.”

         “ _We_ can pay,” Bilbo corrected and Thorin nodded.

         “We’ll work that out later.” Gandalf shrugged. “Now ... Bilbo ... if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to step out and leave Thorin and I alone.”

         “Alone?” Bilbo asked even as he picked up his saddlebag.

         “Yes. I want to have a full session with Thorin while he’s still ... hot, so to speak, and I think it’s best from now on if his sessions remain private.”

         Bilbo looked at Thorin and for a moment it looked as each would protest, but in the end, they both nodded and Bilbo left the room, closing the door behind him.

         Thorin retook his seat, keeping the ice bag on his hand. “I’m sorry to be such a pain in the arse, doc.”

         “I’d love to say I’ve had worse patients,” Gandalf said, smiling. “But at the moment, I can’t think of one!”

         Thorin laughed. “If it’s any consolation, I owe you a great deal. Thank you.”

         “It’s my pleasure, Thorin. And please, from now on, why don’t you call me Andy.”

 

——-oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo——-

 

         It was over. For now anyway.

         Thorin couldn’t help but wonder, would every session from now on be this rigorous, this draining? Would he feel whipped and tired from here on out? He recalled when he first started working out and lifting weights. The aching and soreness; _‘No pain, no gain’_ they used to say. He’d believed, and felt, that the pain was a good kind; he felt alive, felt he was improving and changing into something better, someone stronger. And in the end, he saw the results of his efforts.

         Was this any different?

         That was how he should view these appointments with Andy. Each session would be a mental workout, a heart aching, and soul weary workout. It would only then be natural that he would feel emotional aches and soreness, feel a little weak and tired. They would sap him of his strength and leave him feeling beat, but in the end he would feel stronger, better, more alive than he’d felt in years. Maybe it really was a good thing. Lord knows, it was what he needed, what was _required,_ for him to claw his way back.

         Back to himself.

         Back to the life stolen from him. And from Bilbo.

         The life he _wanted_ back.

         But there was no denying at the moment, Thorin felt like he had done battle with a beast. Not unscathed mind you, but victorious; his heart felt heavy and he did indeed ache all over - especially his hand - but he was still standing, still had Bilbo’s love, as Bilbo had his. And they were moving forward, they had a plan and they would see it through.

         They would see it through, together.

         As they made their way through the underground car park and the car came into view, he figured that there was no time like the present to take Andy’s advice to heart; he’d lean on Bilbo.

         “Babe,” Thorin said softly, giving Bilbo’s hand a gentle squeeze. He turned his head and found Bilbo already looking at him. “Would you mind driving?”

         “Of course not,” Bilbo had no hesitation and gave Thorin’s hand a squeeze in return as if to say, _you don’t need to ask._

         As they settled into their places, Thorin’s exhaustion caught up to him completely, and he slowly leaned over; laying his head on Bilbo’s shoulder and closing his eyes. It was a comfort; even that small bit of contact was enough for him to soak up some of the warmth of Bilbo’s body. And while he knew others would laugh at him for it, he swore that Bilbo’s energy, his life-force - maybe it was even his very soul - seemed to reach out, wash over him and soothe him; he’d take it.

         Thorin was further soothed when he felt Bilbo reach up, gently stroke his face with a hand before it settled on Thorin’s knee.

         It was at that same moment Thorin realized Bilbo hadn’t started the car.

         “Something wrong?” Thorin asked, not even worried enough to open his eyes.

         He heard Bilbo take and release a deep breath. “This is a lot of car,” Bilbo said. “A lot of _expensive_ car.”

         Thorin thought that cute for some reason and couldn’t kept amusement from his voice. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

         “Make a wrong move,” Bilbo answered dryly, “have an accident, and cause thousands of pounds worth of damage.”

         Thorin shrugged. “Then we fix it. No big deal.” He heard Bilbo take another breath and felt Bilbo sit up a little straighter.

         “Right,” Bilbo said with conviction. “Because, it’s just a car.”

         “Just a car,” Thorin parroted, not bothering to hide a smile of affection.

         “I can do this,” Bilbo said, starting the engine. “It’s just a fucking car.”

         “Don’t worry, babe,” Thorin said softly, sinking down a tiny bit further into Bilbo’s warmth. “I’m not worried. I trust you.” And he did, completely. He’d gladly admit it.

         The car purred to life and before he knew it, Thorin felt it turning out of the car park and onto the streets of London. Frankly, Thorin was more than relaxed; he felt the car moving smoothly through traffic, Bilbo clearly handling the auto with ease. Bilbo huffed out a quiet laugh to himself, as if thinking something funny, but before Thorin could ask what was amusing, Bilbo asked him a question.

         “Are you hungry?” Bilbo asked quietly.

         Thorin hadn’t thought about it, but now that he did, his stomach churned a bit at being empty. “I’m starving, actually.”  

         Bilbo was quiet for a few moments before almost whispering, “I know this great little place.”

         “Whatever you want; it’s fine.”

         “It’s …” Bilbo took a breath with his hesitation, “it’s down by the sea.”

         Thorin was smiling again; now he knew why Bilbo laughed; the signs proclaiming the turn off for Brighton. “Can I assume they serve great seafood?”

         “You can,” Bilbo answered and Thorin could hear the smile in his love’s voice.

         “Sounds perfect.” It was perfect to Thorin.

         There were few heartbeats before Bilbo added, firmly, “And I’m paying!”

         Thorin didn’t bother to hold back his laugh.

         _Fine, Bilbo could pay._

         _This time._

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         Brighton never seemed so beautiful to him.

         Thorin closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. They were sitting outside The Regency Restaurant, as they had that first night they met. He took a slow deep breath and drank in the early evening air. The slight, salty tang of the sea breeze filled his nose, mixed with the subtle bitter aroma of half-finished coffee. Thorin was vaguely aware of the waiter returning with the bill or the scratching of Bilbo’s pen as he signed of it.

         “Where to now?” Bilbo asked.

         Thorin took another breath before opening his eyes. “Wherever you’d like. I’m open to suggestions.”

         Bilbo shrugged. “We could take a walk by the beach? It’s barely a quarter past seven.”

         Thorin nodded. “We could.” Thorin closed his eyes again. “It’s entirely up to you.”

         Bilbo was quiet for a bit. Thorin heard the gentle scraping chime of china on china; Bilbo was drinking the last of his tea.

         “I think someone is tired,” Bilbo said, putting his cup down.

         Thorin smiled at that. “I won’t say no to an early night.” It’d been a long day; first the unpleasant board meeting, an emotional marathon session with Grey, a long drive to the coast, and then a hearty dinner. Thorin was indeed tired.

         “Why don’t we head over to Dori’s,” Bilbo suggested, “and settle in?” Bilbo had called Ori’s brother on the way down and asked if he’d a room for a night or two. Thankfully, because the weekend was over, Dori actually had most of his rooms available.

         “Sure thing.” Thorin agreed opening his eyes and stretching

         Bilbo pushed back his chair and stood. Thorin did the same and together they walked the short distance to the car. Bilbo agreed to drive again; he did know the way after all.

         “I’m a little nervous,” Thorin said, with chuckle.

         “Why in the world would you be nervous?”

         “This will be the first friend of yours I’ll actually meet.”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

         _That can’t be right._ Bilbo thought. “You’ve met Ori.”

         “Not really,” Thorin stated. “Three times. And then only briefly. The first time was when he fell through the doors at work ... and we didn’t talk, nor did I have a clue who he was ... the next time was at that disastrous lunch date and, again, we didn’t talk ... and then it was at my birthday party and we didn’t exactly have the time to chat and get to know each other.”

         Bilbo couldn’t argue with that. Everything Ori knew of Thorin and told to Bilbo had been filtered through Dwalin; Thorin and Ori hadn’t sat down together.   “Well ... what about Andy?”

         “We didn’t chat about you until today and even then, it’s not the same as a friend.”

         “I think of him as a friend.”

         “Granted, but Dori is ... well, he’s a _personal_ friend. Someone who has known you for most of your life ... Grey is someone that you met professionally and then became friends.   Know what I mean?”

         Bilbo, again, could not argue that point.

         “You, on the other hand,” Thorin said, “Have met most of my family.”

         “No I haven’t,” Bilbo protested. But, thinking on it for a moment, that wasn’t totally true either.

         “You’ve met Dis,” Thorin said. “Chatted about you and I with her. You met Dwalin—”

         “True, but I don’t know –”

         “You know him better than Ori and I know each other.”

         Bilbo, sadly, had to agree.

         “Hell ... you even know my ... you know Thrain!”

         “Oh, God,” Bilbo said, feeling a bit ill. “Don’t remind me.”

         “My point is,” Thorin said with a sigh, “I’m nervous because meeting Dori is like ... meeting someone you’re as close to as family. What if Dori doesn’t like me?”

         Bilbo almost laughed but the laughter died quickly; the last time he’d a chat with Dori was just last week, when Bilbo had confessed the whole story to the eldest Ryson brother and, yes, Dori had commented along the lines that he _wouldn’t_ like Thorin.

 

_“I can’t believe it!” Dori thundered. “How could you still feel anything for a piece of garbage like that?!”_

_“He’s not garbage, Dori,” Bilbo said quietly. “You don’t know Thorin.”_

_“I can’t imagine I’d want to know him!”_

         Bilbo also remembered that he hadn’t called Dori after his reconciliation with Thorin; never let Dori know the outcome, what the whole truth was, everything that Thrain had done, not Thorin.

         Suddenly, Thorin’s nervousness didn’t feel so out of place.

         But there was little to be done! They were pulling up in front of _The Grey Hen_ and Bilbo wasn’t about to leave Thorin in the car just to rush in and convey the entire backstory to Dori; Dori would have a million questions and demand answers.

         Bilbo would have to wing it. “It’ll be fine,” Bilbo insisted with a smile.

         Thorin got out of the car and wait for Bilbo to exit and set the alarm. Bilbo drew quiet breaths and reminded himself internally that Dori would not make any scene or be rude to Thorin; that wasn’t Dori’s style. At worst Dori would be cool and aloof. Bilbo could deal with that. He’d get Dori alone at some point and explain everything. It really would be fine.

         He hoped.

         They didn’t need to knock. They hadn’t taken two steps towards the entrance when the door opened and Dori was standing there.

 

 

         “I wondered when you’d arrive,” Dori said.

         “We went to have dinner,” Bilbo said, smiling, keeping it light.

         Dori’s expression was unreadable. “I figured as much. Have you any luggage?”

         “No,” Bilbo said. “This was a spur of the moment trip?”

         “I’ve no doubt,” Dori stated, turning to Thorin. “I feel it’s safe to assume you’re Thorin?”

         Thorin held out a hand that Dori did indeed take. “Correct.”

         Dori shook Thorin’s hand, saying, before letting go, “I’ve heard much of you.”

         Thorin’s cheeks colored a bit. “I’m sure.”

         “May we come in?” Bilbo asked, wanting to get Thorin in and settled. Then he could let Dori free to his questions.

         “Of course!” Dori stood back and wave them in. “Where are my manners?”

         _The Grey Hen_ had always been comforting to Bilbo; warm and inviting, filled with antiques and slightly twee. But at that moment, the narrow entrance hall seemed tight and claustrophobic. Bilbo told himself he was only tired, like Thorin, and was letting his imagination run wild.

         “I’ve put you two in the big room on the first floor,” Dori said, starting up the stairs. “It’s got a private bath and huge bed—”

         “Actually ...” Bilbo said, interrupting as he followed Dori upstairs; Thorin bring up the rear. “... I wonder if the back, second floor bedroom is available.”

         Dori stopped and turned around, perplexed. “The _back_ bedroom? That’s the smallest one in the place!”

         “I know.”

         “Why in on Earth, would you—”

         “Please?” Bilbo had his reasons. “Unless it’s inconvenient, of course.”

         “No.” Dori started ascending the stairs again. “But ... it doesn’t have a private bath and the bed is tiny ... like the room itself!”

         “I know,” Bilbo reiterated. “But it’ll be perfect.”

         Dori shook his head. “Very well. You’re the guest.”

         “I’d hope I’m more than a guest,” Bilbo added teasingly, as they reached the second floor.

         Dori stopped again and spun around. “I didn’t mean it like that!” Dori almost sounded hurt. “You’re family in my eyes! I just meant you may have whatever you like!”

         “I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, feeling badly for making the joke. “I was trying to be funny.”

         Dori gave him a look that said he was not that amused but he did smile all the same. “This is the shared bathroom.” Dori gestured to a door on the right. “And this is your room.” They walked through a door at the end of the hall and into a very tiny bedroom with a miniscule cupboard, tiny bedside table with a small clock radio and a double bed. “Are you _sure_ you want to be in here?” Dori asked.

         “I’m sure,” Bilbo said.

         “I can’t see why, but ...” Dori shook his head. “Poor Thorin will have to bend in half to fit in that bed!”

         Thorin chuckled at that.

         “Don’t worry,” Bilbo said smiling giving Dori a hug. “We’ll be comfortable.”

         “All right,” Dori said, glancing at his watch. “It’s not even eight p.m. and you two are heading to bed?”

         “We’ve had a very long, tiring day,” Thorin said.

         “So I’ve heard,” Dori said. When Thorin looked confused, Dori continued. “Ori called and gave me the news about today, which I guess he got from that cousin of yours.”

         “You mean Dwalin?” Thorin asked, amused.

         “Yes ... Dwalin,” Dori answered with slightly pursed lips. “Who I _still_ haven’t heard much of anything from my baby brother.”

         Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s hardly a baby.”

         “Not the point.”

         “He’s going to keep you two apart as long as he can.” Bilbo confirmed.

         “Why is that?” Thorin asked.

         “Nevermind,” Dori stated, waving Thorin off and turning to Bilbo. “I’ll leave you two now. There are toiletries in a basket inside the bedside table.”

         “Thank you,” Bilbo said, giving Dori a hug.

         “Yes, thank you,” Thorin held out his hand again for Dori.

         Dori took it but instead of just shaking it, he held it for a minute. “Ori also told me about ...” Dori hesitated. “About your ... father.”

         Thorin stiffened slight but said nothing.

         “I just want to say,” Dori added quieted. “How very sorry I am over what you and Bilbo have gone through.”

         Thorin relaxed.

         “I can’t even imagine what you two have suffered the last three years apart.”

         Thorin nodded. What was one to say to that?

         “Just know,” Dori said, finally releasing Thorin’s hand, “you’re as a welcome here as Bilbo.”

         “That’s kind of you,” Thorin said, softly.

         Dori gave Bilbo a smile and then moved to the door. “Good night to you both. Sleep well. Ring if you need me,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

         Both Bilbo and Thorin looked at each other and smiled; the first ‘family’ meeting was over and it was far better than either hoped or expected. Silence hung in the air but it wasn’t unpleasant or uncomfortable, rather it was welcomed like a warm blanket on a cold night.

         “Alone at last,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo a little wink.

         Bilbo giggled. “Thank God.”

         Thorin nodded. “Do you want to use the bathroom first?” He began unbuttoning his shirt.

         “I can,” Bilbo said, toeing off his shoes while unbuttoning his waistcoat.

         All in all, not half an hour later, Bilbo was switching on the radio for some soft music to play through the night, then both were climbing into to bed; Bilbo in his sleeveless undershirt and pants, while Thorin in only his boxers. It took a little bit of jostling to get into a comfortable position, but they ended up spooning; Bilbo’s back to Thorin’s front.

         “This is, uhm ...” Thorin cleared his throat. “Cozy.”

         Bilbo chuckled, shrugging a shoulder. “But it is nice. Yes?”

         “I’m not complaining,” Thorin whispered in Bilbo’s ear. “Just ... curious.”

         “About?”

         “Why did you want such a small bed?”

         Bilbo didn’t say anything for several long moments, but then turned in Thorin’s arms to face him. “I was thinking about your dreams.”

         “What about them?”

         “Well ...” Bilbo drew a breath. “Andy said they were all about abandonment. You being alone, basically.”

         “Yes.”

         “And I starting thinking about your bed at home.”

         “ _Our bed_. But what about it?”

         “It’s so huge.”

         “Right, but ... I don’t see what that—”

         “I mean, it’s easy for me to roll away from you. And I have. I wake up on the other side, far from you.”

         “Yes ... that’s true, but again, I—”

         “I abandon you.”

         Thorin drew a few breaths, working out what Bilbo said.

         “I basically leave your side, every night.”

         “Well ... maybe, but not real—”

         “I do. I abandon you and you are left alone ... on your side of the bed.”

         Thorin protested. “It’s not the same as if you left the flat.”

         “But to your sub-conscious ... it might as well be.”

         Thorin didn’t say anything to that.

         “My thought, then ... if I stayed next to you ... all night ... where I’d be close at hand ... even in your sleep ... you’d know I was there ... with you ... beside you ... that I hadn’t abandoned you.”

         Thorin pulled Bilbo closer to him.

         “I don’t want you to feel that way, Thorin.”

         Thorin’s tightened his hold on Bilbo. “Tell me,” Thorin whispered. “Those years we were apart. What _did_ you feel?”

         Bilbo’s first instinct was to say he was fine, that he okay, that he got through it so not to worry about it. But those were lies. And he’d promised, no more lies, no more diverting, nothing but the truth. “That first year,” Bilbo whispered back, reaching up and stroking Thorin’s hair, “I sort of drifted through it. I was merely existing, waiting as it were.”

         “Waiting for what?”

         “The time when ... when I could cross over and join you. I believed you were waiting for me, and I held on to that.”

         “But then you saw me.”

         Bilbo closed his eyes. It wasn’t pleasant to think back on but it was reality. “Yes. And I felt—”

         “You had nothing to wait for.”

         Bilbo nodded. “I figured I couldn’t have you in this life and I’d never have you in the next, so why ... why continue living when I indeed had nothing to live for.”

         Thorin buried his face in the crook of Bilbo’s neck, his arms encircling Bilbo protectively.

         Bilbo continued to gently run his fingers through Thorin’s hair. His heart was pounding but he felt they were on the edge of something again, another moment they had to get though, so he asked, “What did _you_ feel, Thorin?”

         Thorin held Bilbo as close as possible, his voice so quiet but broken, “So much fear! So much pain! I felt so—”

         “So alone.”   Bilbo closed his eyes against the horrid idea. And of course Thorin felt alone. Thorin’s behavior made so much sense and was so clear. Thorin, so long abused and battered by his father, then hurt and damaged by the war and his wounds, abandoned, in his mind, by Bilbo, was like a wound animal, cornered and beaten down. Was it really so surprising that Thorin had lashed out, kept others at arm’s length and let his heart and soul fill with so much anger and rage, so much doubt and fear. And Bilbo hurt just to hear the defeat in Thorin’s voice.

         No more.

         “I don’t know what the future holds,” Bilbo said, turning to plant a soft kiss near Thorin’s ear. “But know this; as long as I draw breath, you will never feel that way again.”

 

         _Just close your eyes_

_The sun is going down_

_You’ll be all right_

_No one can hurt you now_

_Come morning light_

_You and I’ll be safe_

_And sound_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so emotionally draining and difficult. not the least of which was because it's over 20,000 words long! (I refused to break it up anymore than it already has).
> 
> From this chapter on, things should be smooth sailing and I should wrap up a great deal of the lose ends!
> 
> THE END IS COMING!
> 
> *** Super big hugs and thank you to Beetle and Whyisitclever for their combined efforts of BETA-ING ***

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE TO HEAR FROM OUR READERS - PLEASE FEEL FREE TO LEAVE COMMENTS OR LOOK FOR ME ON TUMBLR - http://badskippy.tumblr.com/
> 
> A VERY GOOD FRIEND ASKED, WHO DO YOU SEE AS THE CHARACTERS?  
> WELL, HERE IS THE FULL LIST OF WHO I ENVISION PLAYING THE PARTS ...  
> (Bare in mind that those playing villians, are NOT casted in my mind because I dislike them)
> 
> Martin Freeman as Bilbo Baggins  
> Richard Armitage as Thorin Durin  
> Graham McTavish as Dwalin Fundinson  
> Adam Brown as Ori Ryson  
> Sir Ian McKellan as Dr Gandalf 'Andy' Grey  
> Robin Wright as Dis  
> Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson as Vili (but with blond hair and a trim beard)  
> Sean Connery as Fundin Farinson  
> Helen Mirren as Carolyn Goddard  
> Anthony Hopkins as Thrain  
> Lesley Duncan as Fris  
> James McAvoy as Frerin  
> John Rhys-Davies as Groin  
> Bob Hoskins as Gloin  
> Lewis Hilsengeter (Lew from Unbox Therapy) as Glimi  
> Ian Holmes as Bungo Baggins  
> Julie Walters as Belladonna Baggins
> 
> The other "company" members played by their respected actor
> 
> Jed Brophy as Nori Ryson  
> James Nesbit as Bofur  
> Mark Hardlow as Dori Ryson


End file.
